Billionaire Romance Boxed Set (9 Book Bundle) (109 page)

I still couldn’t believe the closet. Empty when
I first arrived, when I’d come as part of some deal with Asher, he’d since
asked Jeremy to fill it with clothes for me. I don’t really know why,
unless this was part of his plan. I assumed Asher Landseer was the kind
of person who got what he wanted most times, so probably that was it. He
did need to discuss the situation with Beatrice, but he’d do it and she’d side
in his favor. Not
with
me, but
for
him, and so in advance
of that he’d bought me clothes.

I searched through the clothes, shifting aside
hangers. I knew some of what was here, since I’d grabbed a pair of jeans
and a t-shirt to change into before heading to dinner, but most of it was a
mystery. More jeans, dresses, cute skirts and blouses, tshirts and
tanktops and…

Nightgowns. Not many pajamas from what I saw,
but maybe Jeremy put those in the dresser? I should check, except, no,
what did it matter? I was here, alone, and really, I could wear what I
wanted. The nightgowns looked lovely, too. I immediately stared at
a red one and decided I needed to wear it. Nothing else would do.

I plucked the hanger from the closet and set the
nightgown on the bed. Not really a nightgown so much as a babydoll, much
shorter at the bottom and with a pair of thong panties hanging hidden on the
hanger. Somewhat scandalous, really, the kind of thing a woman wore to
bed when she didn’t actually want to go to sleep. Or, the kind of
nightclothes a single woman wore in hopes of not wearing them to bed alone for
much longer.

I pulled the babydoll and panties off the
hanger. The panties were light and stringy and nearly nonexistent.
What the heck was Jeremy doing to me here? He’d bought these without my
knowledge and had taken quite a few liberties. Maybe he was some kind of
pervert? He seemed nice enough, though, so I doubted it.

I stepped out of my casual heels and stripped off my
jeans and t-shirt, socks, underwear, and bra. The lacy lingerie, near
see-thru in some parts, looked especially naughty laying on the floor by my
feet. I had ideas, thoughts, but I pushed them away for now. Maybe
later? Like a nightcap, before I went to bed, I’d touch…

Jessika! I yelled at myself and stared at the
babydoll again. Well, panties first, I decided. I stepped into the
g-string undergarment and lifted it up my legs, fitting it into place. It
felt nice and soft, what little of it there was. I pulled on the
waistband a little, feeling the fabric nestle between my lower lips, an
intimate secret soon to be hidden by the babydoll.

Then I slipped the thin nightgown on, pulling it down
my frame until the spaghetti straps settled on my shoulders. I shifted
around, setting my breasts into place in the slightly cupped front. The
skirt stopped barely below my crotch, offering a tantalizing peek at the lower
curves of my butt in the back. I desperately needed to look in a mirror,
so I ran to the bathroom to check myself out.

My God! I looked so cute and sexy. The
chest part of the babydoll was black and shear, practically translucent, and I
could see my nipples through the fabric, firm and pronounced. The rest
was solid, red with tiny black dots, and a bit of frill at the bottom of the
skirt. The skirt barely covered anything and when I twirled around in
front of the mirror, admiring myself, it fluttered up and revealed my butt and the
split lips of my pussy with a faint bit of fabric between them.

I was ravishing! Or, I liked to think I
was. I wasn’t particularly ravishing for any one person, but if someone
walked into the house right now with absolutely no intent on having sex with
me, I thought I could change their mind rather easily. Not that I’d do
that, but the idea that I could had appeal. Some sex kitten, a sensual
woman of lust and beauty, inciting roaring fires of passion inside anyone who
looked at me.

I laughed to myself and thought about my recent
photography session with Asher. I hadn’t worn anything special for that,
nothing too out of the ordinary anyways, but I’d managed to accidentally seduce
him then. I felt somewhat badly about it, and he did, too, but at the time
I’d needed it. Wanted him, desired him, and he must have felt the
same. Now, if he saw me, what would he do? His photography hobby
was a real thing, not a ploy to get women into bed, but disregarding that I was
pretty sure I could convince him to skip the pictures altogether in this
outfit.

Unfortunately there was no Asher, nor any pictures or
a camera, but only books. I hurried downstairs and then down again, into
the quiet basement library. My babydoll skirt flipped up as I rushed into
the library, but I didn’t care.

Now, what book to read? I didn’t even know what
books he owned. Too many, by far. I wanted something steamy and
sexy, though, to fit my nightclothes. Something sensual and passionate
and…

I saw the spine of a book with a picture of a woman
facing away on it. She wore a backless red dress and had a rose tattooed
from between her shoulder blades all the way down to the small of her
back. Black hair, mysterious.
Kushiel’s Chosen
, by
Jacqueline Carey. I pulled it out of the bookcase and read the back
cover.

Some kind of fantasy, epic by the look of it, with a
bit of mystery and intrigue. Vague insinuations of saucy seduction,
too. Unfortunately this was the second book in this series, so said the
inside cover, but I didn’t have time for the first. I didn’t even know if
I’d like this one, but I figured I’d read for a few hours, test it out, and
then make my choice. If I liked it, I’d find the first book in the series
and read that tomorrow.

The book devoured me. A historical romance of sorts,
with some godly twists. I sat on the couch, covered in blankets,
entranced by the words. I didn’t know much about Jacqueline Carey, but I
liked how she wrote. Very poetic and pleasant sounding sentences, but not
too far and over the top. Just enough, just right.

Absorbed in the book, I barely realized something in
the library was wrong. Something off, a bit of a change, obvious if I
cared to notice but imperceptible in my current, rapt state.

That all changed when one of the bookcases by the
center of the room swung away from the wall and someone stepped out through a
hidden doorway. I looked up, saw the man, dropped the book, and screamed.

Asher laughed. “What are you screaming
at?” he asked.

My scream tapered off but my eyes remained wide.
I stared at him standing in the middle of his library. He pulled on the
edge of the swung open bookcase and pushed it back against the wall. It
clicked into a secret casing on the floor, looking as if it had never opened to
begin with.

I stared at him, never blinking.

“What?” he asked.

“What are you doing what was that why do you have
a secret passageway in your guest home what the heck?” No time for
coherent thought, I rambled all my questions out at once.

“You remember
The Goonies
, right? I
told you I always wanted to be like that boy with the gadgets when I was
younger? I don’t think I ever really grew out of that.”

“Are you serious?” I asked.
“That’s your answer?”

“Well, I didn’t expect you to be in the library,
either.”

“You told me I could stay in your guest house for
the night, and this library
is
in the guest house…”

“I suppose so. What are you reading?”

He walked towards me. Unlike me, Asher still
wore his regular clothes: khakis and a casual, button-down shirt.
Kneeling to pick up the book, he inspected it, then smiled.

I stared at him, confused, and pulled the blankets up
higher, covering myself completely. I wanted to look sexy, but that was
when I thought I was alone, and now… I didn’t really know what I wanted to
do.

“This is a good one,” he said.
“Have you read the first? I like the second part of the series more,
the three books after the first three, but the first three are great,
too.”

“I haven’t,” I said. “It looked
interesting, though. I like her dress.”

“Ah, Phedre, yes,” he said.
“She’s an interesting character.”

“She seems kind of slutty,” I said without
thinking. “I haven’t gotten very far, but…” My words
trailed off.

“Maybe she is in some ways.” Asher
shrugged, grinning. “I think she’s very open with herself,
too. Also, there’s religious reasons, somewhat. It’s a strange
book, but interesting.”

“Religious reason to be a slut?” I asked,
laughing.

“Yes, of course. Shall I go into a long
rant about—” While he spoke, he sat on the couch next to me.
Kicking off his shoes, he lifted up the blanket and settled in beside me.

My God. I stared at him, frozen. He looked
at me, nonchalant, completely confused at my sudden hesitation. As I
backed away from him slightly, inching towards the arm of the couch until my
back pressed against it, Asher reached beneath the blanket to put his hand on
my thigh.

Some calming gesture, no doubt. I needn’t be
afraid, this was some conversation between two friends. Little did he
know, I had nothing covering my thigh. Also, he misjudged and reached
quite a bit farther up. His hand touched down against the very top of my
thigh, his pinky finger brushing against the cloth of my babydoll’s g-string
and settling in right next to my lower lips. I think it dawned on him
that something was off right about the time my face burned bright red, but his
hand never moved.

Asher froze. “You’re not wearing
pants,” he said.

“I changed into pajamas.”

He furrowed his brow. “This doesn’t feel
like pajamas.”

His fingers wiggled slightly, his pinky finger
tweaking my intimate lips back and forth, faintly touching my clit and sending
a shiver through my body.

Shocked, surprised, Asher tossed off the blankets and
looked at his hand. I bit my lower lip, embarrassed at the pleasure he
gave me, never wanting or expecting this to happen. Or, at least I never
expected it, and I pretended not to want it.

“That’s… a nice outfit…” he said slowly.

“Um, Asher?” I said. His hand, still
not moving away. I glanced down at it, then back to him.

“Yes? Oh, uh… uh…” He pulled
his hand away, thrust it into his lap. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t
realize. Where did you get that? What the hell did Jeremy buy
you? I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright. It wasn’t your
fault.” I lay there, lewd and on display, not sure what to do.

Asher pulled the tossed blanket off the floor and
placed it on me, covering my legs and lower body. “Well,” he
said.

“Well,” I agreed.

We made out. Asher dove on top of me, throwing
the blankets aside once more. Surprised at first, I shook out of it
fast. He practically smothered me, pressed his body against me, his lips
seeking mine. His hand grabbed my breast and he groped and squeezed it
and his knee settled between my spread legs. He kissed me hard and I
reveled in it, kissing him back. His soft, sensuous lips, so smooth and
light yet hard and yearning. I didn’t know what came over him, but it was
so obvious that right now he wanted me.

I desperately wanted him, too. I pulled him
closer, tugged at his shirt. I undid some of the top buttons, wanting to
strip him of his clothing, but he pulled my hands away.

“No,” he said. “No,
let’s…”

He never finished his words, but his lips spoke
volumes. He pressed into me, onto me, his whole body covering me like his
mouth covered mine. Desperate, gasping, as if there was only a limited
amount of me and he wanted to take it before I vanished. His hand
squeezed my breast harder while his other hand swept lower. Down my side,
to my stomach, lifting up the skirt of my babydoll to the thin fabric barely
concealing my crotch. He pulled at the strings and my thong dug into my
sensitive skin.

I squirmed, caught up in the pleasure of it. Of
him, his kiss, his touch. All my feelings manifested into one ecstatic
lump that settled into the center of my being and radiated warmth. I
wanted him to take me like he’d taken me before, with reckless abandon and
unadulterated passion. I wanted him to forget Beatrice and remember me,
and…

Asher stopped. He got off of me, rose to his
feet, and paced on the carpet around the couch, fretting. I lay there,
legs splayed wide and on perverse display, my babydoll bunched up with one of
my breasts slipping out of the top. My visible nipple was hard as a rock
and poking straight up and at Asher.

“Get off the couch,” he said, as quick as
that. “On your knees.”

“What?” I asked.

He repeated himself. “Off the couch.
On your knees. Put your hands behind your head.”

Odd, that, but I scrambled to do it. I lunged
off the couch and landed by his feet. Kneeling, sitting on my heels, I
put my hands behind my head and looked up at him.

He grabbed my chin between his fingers and inspected
me, turning my head side to side, this way and that.

“How do you feel right now?” he asked me.