The Billionaire's Unwanted Virgin

By: Doris O Connor

He wanted to believe in her innocence, and at the same time it was an unwanted complication he didn't need, even if it played right into his hands.

All the previous flush of heat drained away and left her naturally pale skin so white, for a moment he wondered whether she was going to pass out. Instead she straightened her shoulders again in that unconscious way he'd observed her doing so several times now, and took a deep breath. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, she was the image of restrained dignity.

"I am going to pretend you didn't just say that to me, Mr. …?" She raised her eyebrows and waited for him to fill her in on his name.

"Just call me Lance," he said.

"Lance? I'd have expected a more unusual name." She glanced toward the edges of his tattoo just visible above the sleeve of his shirt. "What is your tribal name? You do have one, haven't you?"

He was so flummoxed by her directness that he replied without thinking, "Lakota."

She nodded and smiled. A tight, reserved, incredibly polite smile, that made him feel lacking somehow.

"Sioux?" she asked.

At his nod, she murmured, "figures," under her breath before continuing. "So, Lakota, as I was saying, I am going to pretend you didn't just say all that to me." She glared at him again and stabbed her index finger into his chest repeatedly.

"You may be rich, you may be grieving, and I am sorry for your loss, but I did not come here to be insulted. I came here for a business transaction, that's all. So, if you are indeed now my owner as you so succinctly put it, then let's get this over with. Claim what's yours, give me what I've earned, and we never have to see each other again. Problem solved."

The words were brave, but there was a slight wobble to her voice, and she bit that plump bottom lip again in a way that had his softening body tighten in need. Damn it, he wanted her, but on his terms and for a damn sight longer than the one night stipulated in that damn bid.

Some of his thought processes must have shown on his face, because she looked uncertain, if not downright frightened of him, the longer he just stood there and looked at her.

"Have you quite finished with your little tirade?"

"I was not—"

"Spare me. I hate to disabuse you of your little notions, but the problem is far from solved. What guarantee can you give me that you will not leave here, the minute I've indulged myself in your delightful wares, and go running to the papers to sell your story? In fact, how do I know that you're not wearing a wire now under that ridiculous outfit, and some sleaze reporter is lapping up this conversation, ready to have it spewed all over the Sunday papers in the morning? I am a wealthy man. You wouldn't be the first piece of skirt who tried that. Admittedly your technique is more inventive than others, but the fact remains. There is no way you will walk out of this house anytime soon."

She swallowed hard, and he caught her now slack hand in his and pulled her back to him until their thighs touched. He cupped her face with his free hand to make her look at him and indulged himself by dipping his head and brushing his lips across hers. Her outraged gasp mingled with his exhale, and he smiled at the evidence of her galloping heart rate visible via the wildly jumping pulse point in her slender neck.

"You can't keep me here against my will. There are laws against kidnapping, and I would never run to the papers. What sort of woman do you think I am?"

The hurt behind those whispered words settled in his gut like acid lead, and he searched her face for any malice. He cursed under his breath when he found none.

"I’ll tell you, shall I? The kind I am going to marry."


Alice stared at him disbelief. She couldn't have heard him right. He wanted to marry her? Was she caught up in some terrifying nightmare? That had to be it. Either that or his overwhelming presence had addled her brains. This close to him she was acutely aware of every ounce of hard, male flesh she was plastered against. The secret place between her thighs throbbed in need, and moisture soaked her sensible cotton knickers. The blood roared in her ears, and if her heart beat any faster it would surely go into cardiac arrest.

Aware that he was studying her, waiting for her reaction, she found her voice from somewhere.

"Are you proposing to me?" She winced at the squeaky quality of her voice, and he laughed and mercifully let her go. She felt cold and curiously at sea without his big body surrounding her.

"I am sorry. Shall I go down on one knee? It might be overkill under the circumstances, but if it makes you feel better?"

Sure enough, he perched down on one knee, one hand held to his heart in a mocking re-enactment of a marriage proposal.

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