Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
Francisco
The first time I ever saw Isabella Bradley was beneath the strobe lights of my club in Vegas. She looked gorgeous. No, that’s not the right word. She looked fuckable. Immensely fuckable, and I seriously contemplated taking the steps down to the floor. She had turned down every man who approached her, but I felt confident enough about getting her into bed. The problem was, I didn’t want a carbon copy of every beautiful girl. I didn’t want another bland night of vanilla sex. I wanted control, and this girl, with her high heels and fake eyelashes and glasses of Dom Perignon was in no position to give it to me.
What do you want? she asks. The same thing I wanted that night, only now I know that it’s possible. It’s within my grasp, and the anticipation makes me hard. Everything about her makes me hard. I want to own you. If I told her that she’d go running for the hills. “I have something deeper in mind than an infusion of cash.”
“You want a seat on the board?”
“God no. I want controlling interest.”
Her eyes widen. “That’s impossible. Bradley Hotels stay in the Bradley family.”
“That’s exactly what I’m proposing,” I say, drawing out the last word. Proposing. This isn’t how I imagined proposing marriage. “That I become part of the Bradley family.”
Her blue eyes are narrow. She’s suspicious. Good. She should be. “Meaning?”
“Marriage is the easiest way, I should think. And it’s about time I settled down. Produce an heir, as my aunt would say.”
Shock. Disbelief. Fury. They’re written across her face in rapid succession. “You’re an asshole.”
That makes me laugh. It’s a good laugh. A belly laugh. The kind that’s genuine. She’s perfect for me. Her brother was right when he said I liked new construction. The villas in Bali. The club in Vegas. The ice hotel in Sweden. I like to control every single aspect of a situation. I would never have considered taking on the Bradley hotels, no matter the return on investment. Not until I heard the whispers about her taking over the reins. Not until I put her together with the fuckable woman I saw in the club. The Bradley Hotel empire is a bonus. She’s my true acquisition.
This close, I can feel her body heat. I can smell her lavender scent. I breathe in deep. It’s going to make me hard now, anywhere I go. A lavender candle. An air freshener. My cock will turn to steel because it wants inside this woman.
“Is that a yes?” I ask.
Her blue eyes flash. “There’s no way in hell.”
“Not even for Chef Bautista?”
“Not for any chef in the world. I can’t even tell if you’re joking right now. Or just playing some kind of prank. This is a business transaction.”
“Our marriage would be a business transaction.”
She laughs, a wild sound. I want her to make that sound with my tongue on her clit. “Let’s assume I’m even contemplating this idea. Are you suggesting a marriage in name only?”
“Oh darling. We’re going to have sex.” I glance down at her. That sweet little black pantsuit that she uses as a shield, as if anything could cover her innate sensuality. Every man who meets with her in this conference room wants to spread her naked on the shining wood table. Myself included. “I suppose a test run is in order. A spreadsheet with numbers that add up.”
“What?” Her blue eyes are clouded. She’s affected by how close we are. She feels the attraction the same as I do. We’re both just animals beneath the pretty trappings, and her instincts warn her body to prepare itself.
Her pale skin turns pink. I want to see where else she’s pink. I settle for her mouth.
A light brush of my lips over hers.
And then again.
I knew we’d have chemistry, but I’m still surprised by the heat that streaks through me. The hunger. It demands satisfaction. Here. Now. More.
I press harder, showing her how it will be between us. I’m commanding in all areas of my life—business and personal. And definitely sex.
“Should I make a table of your lips? Should I draw a graph of your taste?” I murmur to her, probing deeper, questing with my tongue, searching for that feminine flavor. There she is. She holds herself very still as if she’s never been kissed.
Her soft cry sounds almost lost, and then she tentatively kisses me back.
This was only supposed to be a test. For her. For myself. To see if we were compatible, to prove to her that we were. A sense of unassailable rightness propels me forward, until I’m nibbling on her lush bottom lip, biting down so I can hear her high-pitched moan of protest.
I’m not touching her anywhere, only my mouth to hers. My hands are at my side, turned into fists so I don’t grab her. She’s the one who grabs me. Her little hands pull at my suit jacket, tugging, tugging. The warmth of her body seeps through the wool and linen.
She gasps and pulls away, cheeks flushed. “This is in-in-inappropriate.”
I’m gratified by that small stutter, proof that she’s affected. Because I’m bloody well affected. I thought I was hard when the elevator doors opened and I got a glimpse of that tight body encased in a sophisticated suit. Now I’m so erect I’m aching.
“If this shocks you, wait until our wedding night.”
“We’re not getting married.”
“Don’t fool yourself. I could have your pantsuit off, legs spread wide, my tongue in your pretty little cunt if I wanted. You’d come loud enough that your father would hear it down the hallway.”
Her blue eyes are midnight with arousal. “Then why don’t you?”
Eager girl. I’m going to enjoy her. “We live in a modern world, but I’m a traditional man. The first time we have sex will be on our wedding night.”
She scoffs. It would be more convincing if her pupils weren’t dilated. If her breath wasn’t coming fast. She’s the dictionary definition of aroused. “You’re insane.”
“And you’re lovely. Beautiful. Divine. The first time I saw you, I wanted you.”
A roll of her pretty eyes. “I bet you say that at every investor meeting.”
That makes me grin. “I didn’t fall in love until I found out you’d made the spreadsheets, though. Precise. Smart. You gave me what I wanted before I knew I needed it.”
“I should call security. I should have you thrown out of the building.”
“You won’t.”
She skirts the table, putting it between us, using it as a shield. “Sit,” she says, her voice imperious. She’s used to men who obey her. And for now, I will. She’s not mine yet. Not mine to control, to fuck, to play with.
I sit down in a conference chair and lean back, hands behind my head. “Are you ready to discuss the terms of our merger?”
Hands smooth her jacket. She gives a little shake of her head. She’s trying to compose herself. As if there’s a chance in hell I’m going to write a check and walk away. The black padfolio she brought sits in front of me now. We’ve switched places. I open it and turn the pages. It’s a printout of the proposal she sent me, with her notes scribbled in the margins. Ideas she wants to emphasize. Talking points. A few numbers written down.
My eyebrows go up. “That low? You must be desperate for money.”
She glares at me. “I should call my father. Make him negotiate with you.”
“He’d sell you to me in a heartbeat. I think you know that.”
“Then my brother.”
“And watch your precious hotel chain go down in flames. You care too much for that.”
“How do you know what I care about?”
“You left Vegas. You left the entire club scene. One minute you’re getting photographed in short skirts and diamonds. Then Bradley Hotels almost fails. Everyone knew about that one. And you’re wearing suits and running numbers all day. You care.”
“A hundred thousand people work for this company.”
“Isabella Bradley, a philanthropist. The gossip rags will be disappointed in you.”
“I’m not running a charity. I’m running a business. And you’re wasting my time.”
There’s a pen in the padfolio. I pick it up where she’s scribbled down a number so low that she’s clearly desperate. I write a number five times that large. Enough to get her interest. Then I push it across the table. We’re negotiating for more than just the company. Her body. That’s what I want, and when I want something, I’ll pay anything to get it.
Her eyes widen when she reads it.
Then she puts her head in her hands. “This is a disaster.”
I could give her some false platitude about how being married to me won’t be that bad. But the truth is it’ll be worse than she thinks. “A hundred thousand people will keep their jobs. Your family legacy remains intact. Your mother can remain on the board of the natural science museum. She can continue her generous endowment of the arboretum.”
“Why would you even want to marry me?”
“Don’t underestimate yourself. Every man on the planet wants to marry you. I’m the one who actually has the balls to propose to you.”
Her expression turns sardonic. “This? A proposal? I don’t see a ring. And you’re certainly not down on one knee.”
“My methods are unconventional. You’ll find that’s true in many areas of my life. But make no mistake—I’m not pulling a prank. I’m dead serious.”
There’s still disbelief in her eyes. It will take her some time to accept this. Like the stages of grief. She’ll go through denial, anger, and bargaining. She’s mourning her life as a single woman. “So if I say no to your proposal, there’s no hotel deal?”
“You won’t say no to my proposal.”
“See? This is why we won’t suit. I don’t like some alpha macho man coming in and telling me what to do. I think for myself, thank you very much.”
“I’ll keep you so sexed up, so blissed out on orgasms that you won’t care that much about how commanding I get. In fact, I think you’ll learn to love it.”
“I’m not some housewife who cooks and cleans.”
“If I wanted a cook or a maid, I’d hire one. I want a wife.”
“It sounds like you want a sex slave.”
“Work all you want during the day. Manage Bradley Hotels. Manage my restaurants and clubs and hotels. I won’t stop you. At night you submit to me.”
Her face blazes with heat. Vanilla. At least her past experiences have been vanilla. I guessed it right at the club, but she’ll experience the full range of kink with me. And she’ll like it. I’ll condition her to like it. Praise her when she comes, praise her when she cries.
Pleasure and pain.
“Why are we even talking about this?” She probably means for her tone to be demanding. Instead she sounds breathless.
“This is a negotiation.”
“It doesn’t feel like one. It feels like you’re telling me everything you want.”
“That’s right. There should be something in it for you. Besides the orgasms. Besides the limitless wealth. Besides the title of duchess. There are women who would like to marry me, you know. I’m considered a good catch in high society.”
“Then why don’t you marry one of them?”
“Because I want you.”
Emotions streak across her clear blue eyes. Confusion. Longing. And finally, resignation. She thinks I’m fucking with her. That she won’t be able to save her family’s company.
She stands abruptly. The chair rolls away from her, pushed by the force of her movement. “This meeting is over. Our secretary will show you out.”
Part of me wants to insist that she understand the truth. Another part of me wants to strip her naked, to reduce her to a quivering woman who begs to come. Patience. I don’t have very much, but I’ll grant her a little. Very little. “I’ll wait for your phone call.”
She glares at me. “I’m not calling you. We’re never talking again, most likely. Our short acquaintance is now over. And we are never, and I mean never , ever getting married.”