Romance: The Billionaire Alpha Collection (7 page)

Chapter 12

Within five minutes, Bryce has returned with a red, satin cocktail dress and a tube of red lipstick.

“Wear this. And this.”

Jealousy pops in my stomach like a bubble as I wonder who else wore them before me.

“I’d rather wear my own stuff, thanks.”

“Why? This is Gucci. The lipstick is Chanel.”

True, they’re stunning.

“Whose are they, though? I’m sure someone will be upset if I use them.”

He frowns. “You think I’m giving you someone else’s dress? Do I look like I deal in other people’s effects?”

Oh? “They’re new? Even the lipstick?”

“Well of course they are.” He shakes his head. “Come on, I’ve been away from my guests too long already. Can I trust you to make yourself presentable in five?”

“Um… I guess so,” I reply in confusion.

“Excellent. I’ll get someone to set you a space next to me at the table.”

I stare at him, unsure of how to react to being invited to his posh party.

“Why are you doing this? Was this part of your plan?”

He lays the dress and the lipstick on the bed.

“Not to invite you to my party, no. But you...surprise me. I thought I’d enjoy you, but...”

“I do? You did?” Stop blathering. Oh, hang on a minute. “You’ve been gushing about how much you know about me. How did I surprise you?”

“I did…I do.”

We laugh together. That feels nice.

“You’re an open book in many ways, Amelia, but you have a stronger character than I imagined. And yet you’re still fragile and submissive. Intoxicating.”

“No one has ever...” I step closer to him, wanting so much to make love to him. “You’re a massive surprise, too.”

He doesn’t take me in his arms like I want him to.

Instead, he grins. “You’ve no idea.” Clapping his hands, he adds, “Now quickly, please.”

And once again, he leaves the room.

I return my eyes to the beautiful dress: a corset top and pencil skirt. True to his word, when I pick it up, the tag falls out and reads $4,500.

“Oh my!”

Cautiously, I step into it and although I struggle to zip it up for a minute or two, I manage.

It feels incredible on.

I wish Bryce had a full-length mirror so I could see myself the one time I’ll wear a dress like it.

Even with $100,000 in the bank, I will always have more important things to buy than four-thousand-dollar dresses.

I match the red curtains and cushions and realize Bryce sure loves red.

This simple detail arouses me, though I don’t understand why.

Perhaps because it’s one of the few things I can claim to know about him?

I take a few tissues from a box on the dresser and wipe my mouth clean, wishing I could brush my teeth.

The luxurious lipstick glides over my lips so decadently, and the dresser mirror at least enables me to check for smudges or to see if I got any on my teeth.

I grab my brush from my purse and comb my curly hair out. The dry oils mean it isn’t frizzy, and it forms long waves down my back.

After I step into my too-high heels, I’m ready.

“There. Done.”

For the first time I understand why people spend stupid amounts of money on designer products.

I felt marvelous, like a debutante.

Bryce enters the room again, his eyes widening.

“Wow, stunning. Shame to hide such perfection under fabric, but if we must, let it be satin and silk, yes?”

“If you must,” I reply.

He grins and wraps an arm around my waist. “Come, time to share my distraction with the others.”

Share me with the others?

Chapter 13

Bryce sets my nerves on edge saying he wants to share me, but for some reason, I don’t believe he’ll share my body with guests he’s been ignoring most of the evening.

Still, as he walks me into the dining hall—which is enormous, and features one huge dinner table packed full of guests—my stomach lurches as everyone stops talking to inspect me.

I find Bryce’s hand and grip it tight.

He squeezes mine and walks me in, saying to his guests, “Please help my friend to feel welcome, ladies and gentlemen. I wasn’t sure she’d make it here tonight, but I’m delighted to say she surpassed each hurdle and arrived here unscathed.”

He stares down into my eyes.

Even in my highest heels, he’s so much taller than me.

He seems so pleased, even happy, for me to be with him. “Amelia, meet everyone. Everyone, meet Amelia. She is...delectable, is she not?”

I snigger nervously.

A wave of celebratory clinking of glasses and jeers fills the room as Bryce takes me to my seat next to him at the head of the table and says, “I’d like to make a toast, if I may.”

Everyone raises their glasses, including me.

Bryce stands. “In honor of the women at this table, in particular my guest...” He pulls me up by my hand. “Amelia, and strong women everywhere. May you continue to reign supreme over us.” He raises his glass. “But once in a while, I beg you allow your men, who are so often at your feet, to lead you in more than a dance.” He cocks an eyebrow in my direction before looking back at the guests. “You might like it.”

Everyone laughs but me, because he is right.

And it’s erotic, confusing, hot...anything but funny.

I do clink his glass with mine, though, and tell them all “Indeed” before taking a long slug of my champagne.

His eyes remain focused on mine, and our fingertips touch at our sides.

A few of the guests whistle while the rest of them follow me in clinking their glasses and toasting women who allow their desperate men, in certain circumstances, to be in control.

As Bryce and I sit, he threads his fingers through mine.

With my focus still on him, and his still on me, something clicks inside.

A kind of understanding.

A kind of connection.

No longer is he a sexual predator; he’s a lonely man, perhaps cut off from intimacy by his immense wealth and a desire to control a woman sexually.

And although that sounds like the beginnings of a rape charge, he turned out to be anything but brutal.

Fact is, the woman deep down inside me, the woman I had yet to meet, enjoyed being submissive.

No, she loved it, as he had predicted.

I whisper, “Thank you, Bryce.”

“You’re welcome,” he states, almost like he expected the words to fall from my mouth.

He kisses me chastely...such a soft show of intimacy, especially in public. I even thought I imagined it, until I see my red lipstick is on his mouth.

I reach up to wipe it off with my napkin, but he catches my hand and whispers in my ear, “Wish you’d been wearing this on your lips when you had my meat in your mouth.”

My body throbs, and my cheeks burn.

He wipes his mouth on my napkin, wearing the wickedest grin imaginable before looking up at his guests and laughing casually, as if nothing is happening.

Feeling like I’d run through a haunted house in a fairground only to turn up in a fairy tale, my head spins.

The waiters deliver us all a mixture of desserts and refill our glasses with more champagne.

Bryce keeps one hand high up on my thigh as we eat, and I try to make conversation with those around me.

In all, I count thirty men and five women around the table.

I whisper to Bryce, “Thanks for the lovely intro and everything, but what on earth am I supposed to talk to these people about?”

“Nothing. Lucky for you, it’s time for George to take you home. He has your belongings in the car.”

Part relieved, part saddened about the evening ending, I say nothing and stand.

Chapter 14

As I stand to leave the dinner table, some of the guests look up and smile politely; others continue to chatter.

It’s over.

And it is ending as cold as it started.

“Wait,” Bryce says, standing next to me. “I’ll walk you out.”

He asks that his guest excuse him for a moment, and we make our way to the hall at the front of the house.

We don’t speak again until we are out of everyone’s hearing range.

“What about this,” I say, resting my hands on the dress. “I can’t afford this. I’ll change into mine before I go.”

Bryce tilts his head. “Don’t you like it?”

“Well of course I do, but I don’t go anywhere to really use it. This...isn’t me.”

“It’s a gift, and of course it’s you.”

He pushes me through a door, into another hall, and turns me to view my reflection in one of the hall’s gold, ornate, full-length mirror over on the far wall.

With Bryce standing behind me, his large hands resting on my waist and his chin resting on my head, I am a fragile bird—albeit a brilliantly dressed one. “Stunning.”

He’s right. We look as though we walked out of a Hollywood movie. “Okay, well I think standing with James Bond helps me pull it off.”

“Bond? Daniel Craig, I hope.” He sniggers and turns me around, staring into my eyes. “So, you’ll keep it?”

“If you want me to.”

“I do.” He smiles for a moment, then adds, “This is goodnight, Amelia.”

Please kiss me.

I want you to want me.

He lowers his mouth to my lips and his intense stare never breaks from mine.

Until a flustered-looking member of the staff stutters, “Sir, your guests are asking for you...”

Bryce stands straight, huffs, and waves at her. “Okay.”

The moment between us is snatched away.

I remember the contract and inhale.

People with contracts don’t have relationships.

Women who sell themselves, even for one night, don’t get to keep their prince.

“Goodnight, Bryce,” I say, before turning to walk out the door, down the steps, and into the waiting limousine.

I don’t look back.

I can’t.

I can’t say goodbye to this.

Sighing as I sink into the leather seats of the limousine, I feel a tear in my eye.

“Have a good time, ma’am?” George asks, driving over the gravel.

When I bring myself to glimpse back through the window, Bryce is gone and the door’s closed.

“The best, George. And that’s the problem.”

A while later, we arrive outside my apartment.

At this stage, I’ve swallowed the lump in my throat a few times and try to be grateful for a long hot bath and a good cry.

When I get out the car, George offers me a leather bag. “What’s this?”

“I don’t know. Bryce said it’s yours and to give it to you at your home, but to make sure you get inside your apartment door before I leave you.”

“Oh.” A dream ended, but I react numbly as if I were still in it. “Okay.”

We walk up to my floor and I let myself inside. “Thanks, George. I can take it from here.”

“Okay. Sweet dreams, ma’am.” George strolls off, whistling.

Once inside, I open the bag and there, beneath my purse, the Chanel lipstick, and my dress, are bundles and bundles of cash.

More than I’ve ever seen in my life, more than I will ever see again in my lifetime.

My chest constricts and I fall backwards on the couch behind me.

But instead of joy, I cry with sadness.

Our business deal is over.

And I’ll never see him again.

Chapter 15