Raw, A Dark Romance (2 page)

Was he done?

The door’s hinges creaked. His footsteps echoed. He was out in the hallway, walking farther and farther away.

I pulled in a deep breath. Was I safe? Where was he going? How long would he be gone?

For now my virginity was still intact. But my pride…that was long gone. With just a few strokes he’d tamed me. I’d gone from kicking and screaming to protect myself to spreading my legs and practically begging him to take me.

And this was just the first day. The first hour of the first day.

If he kept to his word (and that was a big if, in my book), and would release me at the end of the week, there were still many hours of this torture ahead of me yet.

How would I survive?

Female #162553

Age: 22

Education: University of Michigan, BA English Creative Writing

Hair: blond

Height: 5’5”

Weight: 135

Maidenhead: intact (medical verification attached)

Price: $2.5 million

Length of contract: one week

I’ve gazed too long into the abyss
.--Kace R.

I am a simple girl.

I have a simple dream: to be a queen (of a small country).

But it isn’t because I expect to live a lavish lifestyle. I don’t want to buy expensive designer clothes, or own a shoe collection that would make Khloe Kardashian jealous. And I definitely don’t want to live in a lux home that looks like a museum.

Like I said, I’m a simple girl. I want to be a queen because money and power buys a lot of things.

It buys health.

It buys stability.

And…it buys safety.

I know firsthand what it’s like not to have any of those things. And let me tell you, it sucks. Especially when you’re a kid and there’s nothing you can do about it. That is why I want to be a queen. Then I could use my money and power to help the innocent victims in our world. I could help the children.

In the meantime, while I wait for my Prince Charming to make his appearance, I must continue to live my simple life. I’ll write and publish my smutty romances because they pay the bills. And it’ll be oatmeal with almond milk for breakfast, peanut butter and jelly for lunch, and Ramen noodles for dinner until the day he sweeps me off my feet and carries me into the church to say our vows.

See? Simple. That’s me. That’s my life.

My name is Kendall Tremaine, Ken to my best friend Sidonie Morris. In my world, mornings don’t exist (because I’m never awake before noon), cake is a breakfast food, and most men are only good for two things: bug squashing and tire changing.

Unfortunately, my best friend Sidonie, aka Sid, has never agreed with me on that last one. Which is why she was standing in the middle of my living room-slash-office-slash-kitchen-slash-bedroom, giving me the stink eye.

You see, for the past year I have worked, slept, and ate in this space, the area of a closet. On my current income I couldn’t afford anything bigger. And being a simple girl, I didn’t need anything bigger. Nor did I need, or could afford, a trip to
Spain. Especially just to go on a blind date with a billionaire playboy who probably had no intention of ever marrying anyone.

“You
have
to go,” my very determined, very persistent, very humble best friend informed me as she sank to her knees, to grovel at my feet.

“No, I don’t
have
to do anything.” The groveling was working. It was making me feel a smidgen guilty. Trying hard to distract myself from Sid’s pleading puppy dog eyes, I sat on my couch, dragged my laptop onto my lap, and poked at the keys.

“But…yes, you do. Or my boss will kill me.”

Her boss was Fallon Franchot. Owner of Franchot International. Franchot International, aka FI, was a high profile matchmaking service catering to rich men (supposedly) looking for (trophy) wives. Their success rate was in the fraction-of-a-percent range. Not that it mattered. Rich men with money to throw away came flocking to FI anyway, willing to throw away a few thousand dollars for a handful of dates (and a screw or two) with a hot gold digger.

And thus, when I’d signed up, I’d told myself I would not go on any date FI arranged. I was a gold digger. No denying that one. However I was a gold digger with morals. Standards. But I hadn’t thought about the fact that my bestie’s livelihood might be compromised if I refused.

Sigh.

My shoulders slumped as I met her pleading gaze.

She lifted clasped hands, looking like (a young, cute, but obnoxious) Mother Teresa. “Pleassssse.”

I wished I could blame Sid for this situation, but I couldn’t. It was my fault. After a night of drinking way too much tequila, I agreed to join FI to shut Sid up for once and for all. She’d been begging and pleading for me to join for months. In my (extremely) intoxicated state I’d experienced a weak moment and signed on the dotted line. But I hadn’t heard a word since.

All this time I’d been hoping they’d lost my application. Sidonie had also consumed her share of tequila that night. I figured she might have left my paperwork somewhere or misplaced it.

But, obviously, no such luck.

I closed my computer to focus on our conversation. I had to get out of this somehow, without putting Sid’s job in jeopardy. “Okay, I get it. The mighty Fallon Franchot wants her fee, but…Sid, Spain?”

“Yes,
Spain.” Sid blinked happy eyes at me. “Just look at it this way, it’s a free vacation. Spain is gorgeous. And at this time of year--”

“I don’t want a vacation.” I patted my computer. “I have work to do.”

“You can work anywhere.” She made air quotes. “’Have laptop, will travel.’ That’s what you’ve always said.”

“I can work
almost
anywhere,” I corrected. “I have to have an internet connection.”

Sid smacked her forehead. “Oh shit, of course there’s no internet in
Spain.” Not even trying to hide her smirk, she gave an exaggerated sigh. “Well, crap, I guess that’s it. You can’t go.”

I snarled, “Haha. Cute. But…that’s a long way to travel for a blind date, Sid. You know I don’t really care if I go on any dates or not. We both know the vast majority of FI’s clients aren’t looking for wives. Most of them just want to find a hot girl to fuck for a few months until something better comes along or they get bored. I only joined FI to shut you up. If you are going to insist on hooking me up, couldn’t you find a guy who lives a little closer? Like…
Hawaii? Spain is a foreign country. I’ll need a passport.”

Sid shrugged as she pushed herself off the floor, standing upright. “Sorry, Ken. This is the first guy who has inquired about you. He’s an important client. A client
no one
can say no to…if you get my drift.”

What she was saying was that she couldn’t say no to Mr. Spanish Big Shot. And her boss couldn’t say no to Mr. Spanish Big Shot. Thus, I, being a lowly gold-digging, trophy-wife-wannabe, couldn’t say no, either.

Fucking great.

“So I’m going to
Spain, whether I want to or not,” I grumbled.

Sid grabbed my shoulders and gave them a little shake as she beamed a blinding smile. “You’re going to
Spain, girl. Europe! And you are going to love it.”

“I don’t like this,” I told her. “Traveling to a foreign country. Alone. To meet a stranger. It could be dangerous.”

“Driving on I-696 during rush hour is dangerous. Everything will be fine. Besides, FI always sends a chaperone—“

“You?” I shot back, at last seeing a bright side to this whole horrid mess. Having Sid with me might make the trip worthwhile. We could do some sightseeing, maybe. Or at least have some fun on the flight.

She did a happy little hop and clapped her hands together. “I’m assuming it’ll be me, yes.”

“In that case, I’m game.” I poked my index finger at her. “But only if you can be my chaperone. I don’t want anyone but you.”

“There is absolutely nothing that could keep me from going to Spain with you. Nothing! I’ve been dying to go to Europe all my life. And now, thanks to you, I’m finally getting my chance.” Sid flung her arms around me like a little kid who’d just been told she was getting a pony for Christmas. “Ohmygod, it’s going to be awesome! Thank you! I’ll get right to work on the itinerary. I’ll plan some off time for just the two of us. It’ll be a little chilly for the beach but Cadiz has a carnival in early March. It’s a huge party. And we can go to a spa, too. There are some amazing spas in Spain... ”

I swallowed another sigh and hugged her back. “Sounds great.”

It was set.

I was going on a blind date with some billionaire who always, it seemed, got what he wanted.

I was going on a blind date with a billionaire…in Spain.

Yippee.

* * * * *

Three weeks later my own mother wouldn’t recognize me. Sid and her boss had arranged for me to pay a trip to a stylist. The first thing he did: transform my practical skim-the–shoulders dirty-blond bob into platinum tumbling-down-my-back waves. A new makeup and skincare routine made my ho-hum features a lot less ho-hum. And a new wardrobe of designer custom-tailored clothes performed miracles for the rest of me. I was a completely different girl.

With passport in hand (FI arranged for my application to be expedited) and bags stuffed full of Chanel, Versace, and Guess, I  boarded a limo. The car was huge and swank. FI sure did treat their girls well. It was nice riding in style, though in a way it sickened me that some people could have so much while so many people had so little.

Sadly, Sid wasn’t in the car when I climbed aboard. I guessed she was at the airport, waiting to meet me there. She’d called last night, so crazy-excited I could barely understand her. She’d chattered faster than a chipmunk. If nothing else came out of this—as I fully expected, since I figured a Spanish billionaire would have no interest whatsoever in pursuing a long-distance relationship with a simple girl like me—Sid would at least get her dream trip to
Europe. Knowing I had no deadline and was in no hurry to get home, she’d booked some fun side trips for us, including a couple of days in France and Italy. I was actually pretty excited about the trip now.

When we arrived at the airport, the car didn’t pull into the departing area for the commercial flights. Instead, it cruised to a distant terminal where smaller private jets sat lined up, waiting for passengers. I was let off, and a man in a uniform greeted me formally, as Miss Tremaine. He took my bags, asked if there was anything I needed, and informed me I should follow him.

Such service.

Wearing a skirt and blouse which probably cost more than I made in a month, I flounced behind him, feeling every bit the princess. The limo. The clothes. The new hairdo and makeup. The staff seeing to my every need. It was almost too good to be true.

I was escorted through a customs and immigration checkpoint and then shown to my waiting aircraft. Literally ten minutes after arriving at the airport, I found myself sitting on a cushy sofa in a lux aircraft. Alone.

Where was my chaperone? Where was Sid?

Listening to the engines rev as the plane readied for takeoff, I called her on my cell phone. Was she running late? Had there been a mix-up? Had she expected the limo to pick her up too?

Her line rang and rang before finally clicking to voicemail. I left her a message then tried texting her.

Five agonizing minutes later she still hadn’t responded, but I finally heard the clack-clack of someone climbing the metal stairs outside. I hopped to my feet, prepared to greet my bestie. But the woman who stepped into the plane wasn’t Sid. She wore a uniform. Black skirt and jacket, white shirt. I assumed she would be serving our meals during the flight.

I plopped back on my butt and dialed Sid’s number again, one ear turned to the plane’s entry, listening for that clank, clank sound while the other listened to the ring of Sid’s phone line.

No answer.

No clank-clank.

The woman in the uniform smiled and greeted me with a cheery, “Good morning, Miss Tremaine, is there anything I can get you?” When I shook my head, she stepped behind the wall separating the passenger area from the tiny kitchenette.