Billionaire's Contract (The Billionaire's Contract Series) (3 page)

‘Hey, how’s it going, love?’

‘Fine.’ Kirsty said. ‘I’m just recovering from my journey to the big city.’

‘Well you certainly made an impression.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘As soon as I got back to the office, Tyler Blake rang me and he was asking questions about you.’

‘You mean he still has doubts I can pull this project off?’

‘No, no...he was asking more personal stuff.’

‘Personal? I hope you didn’t tell him anything!’

‘He said he wanted to know more about the authors writing for Inception. I simply told him you weren’t single and you’d have no problem with this book.’

‘You told him I wasn’t single? Why? Did he ask?’

‘I think so. I’m not sure. His voice was just dripping out of my phone like liquid gold.’

‘Jane!’

‘Anyway, I’m calling to say I can’t rent the cabin for you at this short notice. Apparently, it’s fully booked for the month. So you’re going to have to write at home this time.’

‘Oh.’ Kirsty felt disappointed. She loved the cabin and its views of the Scottish Highlands. She always wrote there. But usually her schedule was more achievable and she wasn’t rushing to write a first draft in a month. Usually she booked the place well in advance.

‘Anyway, I told Tyler it won’t affect you and you’ll do just as good a job from home.’

‘You told him about the cabin?’

‘Well I was talking to him just after I got the email saying the cabin was booked.’

‘Sounds like you had  good chat with him.’

‘Well he’s certainly easy to talk to...as well as being easy on the eye.’ Jane giggled.

‘Jane, you’re married,’ Kirsty reminded her.

Jane mocked a sigh. ‘Yes, don’t I know it. Speaking of which, I’d best go. Frank has made me dinner.’

‘Ooh, nice.’

‘Don’t get too excited, it’s just spaghetti Bolognese I think. Anyway, email me some chapters as you go on with the manuscript. See you, love.’

Kirsty hung up and looked at herself in the mirror. At least the thick pink towel hid her curves. Why was Tyler Blake so interested in her?

* * *

Why am I so interested in her? Tyler Blake asked himself as he turned the dial on the shower control, heating up the water so that it steamed around him in the wet room of his Chelsea apartment. He had to admit Kirsty Moore was pretty and her curvy body fascinated him. For most of his life, he had kept his preference for larger women hidden from his friends and associates. If he attended a high-profile dinner or black tie event, he always turned up with the type of woman he was expected to turn up with: Barbie-slim, blonde, vacuous. He hired them from a discreet escort service. Part of the reason he was so successful in business was because of his connections and networking skills and he projected a certain image. Never mind that the trophy women hanging from his arm did nothing to arouse him. He paid them well and when they expected more at the end of the night, he sent them home. He was honest enough with himself to acknowledge that he wanted a woman with the type of womanly curves that were no longer fashionable but spoke of femininity in his mind.

Kirsty Moore was one such woman. As she sat in his office, her femininity had radiated from her and aroused him. The curves beneath her blouse and skirt and the way she filled her clothes made her appear lush and sexy. He had wanted her. When her agent had phoned back and said that Kirsty would write a book for Red Rose Bound, the news had hit him at a much deeper level than that of a publisher hearing about one of his authors; he had thought only of the fact that he would see her again. Calling her agent later to ask about Kirsty seemed clumsy now as he stood in the hot shower hours later but at the time he had felt like an excited schoolboy talking on the phone to the best friend of the girl he fancied.

This wasn’t like him. He was normally calm and able to take anything in his stride. Years of buying failing companies and turning them into successful businesses had instilled an unruffled confidence deep inside him. He made high-powered decisions and signed million-dollar contracts without shedding a single drop of sweat. He was worth billions. Yet a plus-sized Romance author had managed to ruffle that confidence and reach to his core. He turned his face into the shower spray and let the hot stinging needles of water play over him.

There was something else he had recognised within Kirsty Moore, beside her being beautiful.

As an Alpha male, he recognised submissive tendencies with the Romance author. This both excited and disturbed him. It excited him because a submissive was what he looked for in a sexual partner. It disturbed him because he wondered if she would be able to write a BDSM book that would interest readers if she wrote from a submissive’s point of view. As a sub, she would never be able to get into the head of any Dom character in her  book.

He had a lot invested in the Red Rose Bound line and he wouldn’t let anything go wrong with it. Everything had to be perfect. Perhaps Kirsty Moore would need some hands-on guidance.

* * *

After the bath, Kirsty put on her sexiest negligee but felt defeated by her own body. She couldn’t look sexy in anything, what the hell was she thinking? Her belly pressed against the black silk, stretching it taut across her midriff. Her boobs were too big for the negligee and they threatened to spill out at any moment. Her large bottom meant the negligee hardly had enough material left to cover the tops of her thighs. Why did she even bother?

Research, she told herself. She had found a pair of novelty handcuffs in the bottom of a drawer. They had pink fur lining on them and she was sure she had won them during a silly game at an Ann Summers party a long time ago. They had gone into the drawer and had been forgotten about until now.

Now, they were going to help her enter the dark world of BDSM.

All in the name of research.

The thought of being handcuffed in front of Simon filled her with cold dread. But she had to do it for the book.

Lighting scented candles in the bedroom and placing them next to the handcuffs on the bedside table, she lay on the bed, waiting for Simon to come home.

She must have fallen asleep because the next thing she knew he was in the room and she heard him say, ‘Kirsty, what the hell are you doing?’

She sat up, tried to shake off the overwhelming tiredness she felt, and looked at him. ‘I thought I’d give you a surprise.’

He looked at her in the negligee, at the candles, at the handcuffs. ‘What’s all this?’

She felt foolish lying on the bed in her negligee while he was fully dressed in suit and tie. ‘Why don’t you take those things off and come join me?’

He frowned. ‘Why is there a pair of handcuffs on the bedside table?’

‘I thought we could have some fun with them.’

‘Fun? What do you mean?’

‘You could pretend you’re a cop and handcuff me to the bed. Then interrogate me any way you want.’ Just saying it to him made her feel embarrassed. This had been a bad idea. She wanted to get beneath the covers and curl up and close her eyes and forget this had ever happened.

Simon looked at her and the look in his eyes wasn’t one of lust. Of course it wasn’t; he was looking at an overweight woman in a skimpy negligee. In that moment, she pitied him. He deserved better.

‘I’m not some sort of sick freak, Kirsty. I don’t do that stuff.’

‘I...I’m writing a book. About BDSM. I wanted to do some research.’

‘You’re writing a book about BDSM?’ His face wrinkled with disgust. ‘Whips and chains and stuff? You really are sick.’

‘No...it’s for a new publishing line. It’s really popular so they want me to write a book. Some people like it, you know. BDSM, I mean.’

‘Yeah,’ he said, opening the wardrobe and pulling his clothes out. ‘Weirdoes.’ He pulled a suitcase out from under the bed and stuffed his clothes into it.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m leaving,’ he said.

She felt confused. ‘Because of this?’

‘No, not because of this. Although it makes my decision easier. I was going to tell you tonight anyway. I’m moving out.’

‘What? Why?’

‘I’ve been seeing someone else.’

Someone else. The words stabbed her in the heart and made it hard to breathe. ‘Who?’ she managed.

‘Just someone from work.’

‘Is it...Cindy?’ Cindy worked closely with Simon and he talked about her a lot. She was everything Kirsty wasn’t...blonde, graceful and slim.

‘Yes,’ he said matter-of-factly.

‘Simon, please...’

‘It’s too late for that. I’ll pick up the rest of my things later in the week.’ He left the room and she heard him hurry down the stairs and out the front door. It closed with a loud click that sounded so final.

She rolled over onto her side, curled up and closed her eyes...trying to forget that this night had ever happened.

Kirsty dreamed that a phone was ringing somewhere and the ringtone was the same Beyonce song as she had on her own phone. Then she realised it was her own phone and she groped at the bedside table to find it. She half-opened her eyes. Sunlight streamed through the curtains. What time was it? The phone, when she finally found it, said it was already ten-thirty. It also said that the number calling was ‘Unknown’. Was it Simon? Was he calling to say he’d made a mistake?

Kirsty jabbed at the screen and lay back on the pillow as she said, ‘Hello?’

‘Kirsty.’ Smooth, deep tones like polished mahogany. ‘Tyler Blake. I was talking to Jane yesterday and she said you usually write in a cabin in Scotland.’

‘Erm...yes, that’s right. But it’s...’

‘Booked up,’ he said. ‘Yes, I know. She told me that as well. I have a solution. I own a small cottage in Cornwall. It’s on the cliffs near Carbis Bay but it’s far enough away from the beach to be remote. I think it would suit your purposes.’

‘OK,’ she said groggily.

‘Great. I’ll send a driver around to pick you up and take you to East Midlands airport. From there you can take my private jet to Newquay. And a driver there will take you to the cottage.’

‘Erm...I’m going to need some time to get ready,’ she said, realising she was still in bed. Had he said private jet? She had never been treated like this as an author. She had never been treated like this ever.

‘I’ll send the driver for you at one,’ he said. ‘See you at the cottage.’ He hung up.

She slid out of bed and it wasn’t until she got to the bathroom that his words hit her. ‘See you at the cottage.’ Had he said that or had she misheard in her half-awake state?

* * *

She hadn’t misheard. As she stepped from the back of the Bentley and onto the paved driveway outside the cottage, Tyler Blake stood by the open front door. He wore a light grey suit with a buttoned up grey waistcoat and a dark grey tie over his white shirt. He leaned casually on the front wall of the cottage, hands in pockets.  He smiled at Kirsty as she approached and she felt unsure whether the wolfish grin was friendly or predatory.

The driver unloaded her two small cases from the car and took them inside. She felt like she had experienced a small taste of what it was like to live Tyler Blake’s lifestyle. Being driven in luxury cars and flying on a jet where she was the only passenger were experiences she could definitely get used to.

‘Come inside,’ Blake said, stepping in through the front door and telling the driver to wait for him in the car. Kirsty followed him inside.

The cottage was spacious but homely, furnished with comfortable-looking easy chairs and a large plush sofa. A modern glass desk and swivel office chair sat in one corner by the window, looking out of place among the rustic furnishings, and Kirsty wondered if Blake had brought them here today, especially for her. The window beyond the desk looked out over the sea and the golden sandy curve of Carbis Bay in the distance. A stone fireplace cut into the wall contained an unlit pile of logs in the grate. In front of the fireplace, a thick burgundy rug contrasted with the room’s cream carpet. The only thing incongruent with the seaside cottage feel was the collection of framed black and white photographs hanging on the walls. Instead of beach scenes, they showed abandoned factories. A low coffee table in the center of the room held copies of publishing and writing magazines. Kirsty could picture herself producing a novel in this cosy cottage overlooking the sea.

‘Well?’ Blake asked, watching her closely.

‘It’s perfect,’ she replied, knowing that he had arranged it to be perfect.

‘Mi casa es su casa,’ he said.

‘Thank you. I appreciate this.’

‘Nonsense. I’m just taking care of my investment. I’ll see you tomorrow at six pm to read the manuscript so far.’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘And every day after that for the month while you write.’

‘You’re going to read my daily output?’

He nodded. ‘And offer guidance.’

‘Guidance? I don’t need...’

‘I think you do,’ he said levelly. ‘This is new territory for you. And your contract states that you will be open to editorial input during the writing of the first draft.’