ROMANCE: Billion Dollar Question (BWWM Billionaire Bad Boy Romance) (African American Alpha Mail Order Bride New Adult) (24 page)
Authors: Aisha Brooks
Shareena stared at him for a moment and then nodded at him. “Okay, I'll do it. I'll marry you, but only after I've lived with you for a couple of months to make sure we don't want to kill each other first.”
“See, you're practical too!” Archer said laughing and then hugged her tightly before kissing her again and pushing her against the bed.
“Round two?” she grinned at him after he pulled back to look at down at her.
“Of course,” Archer told her, and then proceeded to show just how happy she'd made him.
This deliciously dirty story is a part of Aisha Brooks’ super-charged, highly lewd collection of love and lust, written in 2015. Those who attempt to steal any part of this goldmine and take it as their own risk being a fiery, hot death from a hunk bearing copyright notices—and she’s not about to play with you.
This is a work of fiction—although we wish that people like this really existed, it’s nothing more than a figment of a very, very overactive imagination. Any resemblance to someone you know, a place you love or a thing you hold dear to your heart is nothing more than a craving in your heart that these carnal desires and actions were true!
It goes without saying that this book oozes with erotic sex appeal, and is filled to the rafters with a smorgasbord of acts that you certainly wouldn’t tell your grandmother about. Bodice-ripping, panty-dropping and glasses-steaming, the scenes contained herein are wickedly naughty!
Although all the saucy characters are flirting with forbidden desires and sometimes taking the naughty fruit they really shouldn’t be, all are consenting adults over the age of 18 and not blood-related. What they are is passionate and eager to explore their carnal desires all day long.
In short, this book is going to get you very, very hot!
© Aisha Brooks
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any many whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination. Please note that this work is intended only for adults age 18 and over. All characters represented are age 18 or over.
Table Of Contents
Chapter 1: Just Another Monday
Chapter 2: The Stranger From Switzerland
Chapter 3: Room No. 209
Chapter 4: The Dinner
Chapter 5: The Balcony and The View
Chapter 6: Blast from The Past
Chapter 7: Will You?
Chapter 1: Just Another Monday
It was exactly 6:00 in the morning when the alarm clock went off. Cynthia, without opening her eyes, pressed the snooze button and tried going back to sleep. She couldn’t sleep, but let her hazy mind focus on the 15 minutes she had to rest. She cherished each second of it, but had that ‘impending doom’ feeling because she knew that the time would be up in an instant and she would have to get ready for work. She loved her work, mind you, but it was a Monday after all, and even the workaholics hate it.
As soon as the alarm went off again, Cynthia reached for the clock and turned the alarm off. She opened her eyes, let out a sigh, and forced herself out of bed. She headed to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face, then on into the kitchen to fix herself some cereal. After eating, she brushed her teeth again.
In the tiny lounge of her one-bedroom apartment, her pressed uniform was laid out on the sofa. It was a black skirt and coat with a red blouse. She changed into it, took a look at herself, put on stockings, and then looked at herself again. The outfit worked well on her six-foot frame, the stockings complementing her long, sleek legs. She paired them with red pumps, and then went to fix her hair and put on some dull makeup.
This was her routine every day of the week, and every Monday, in spite of how unremarkable the rest of the week had been for her, she did everything extra slowly, every step requiring an extra effort. Before heading out the door, she stopped by the mirror to take one last look at herself, and asked, “Who do I do this for?”
Cynthia had grown up in a dysfunctional household. She was the 6th of 9 children in her family, not the only daughter by any means, and neither the youngest nor the oldest child or daughter; she was unremarkable in every sense of the word.
Her father was involved in a robbery and died during a police encounter. After her father’s death, her mother had a relapse into drinking. Things continued going downhill from there, not that they were ever ‘good’ to begin with, and somehow her mother ended up being a junkie.
And one day, the children woke up to find their mother hanging in the same room. It was a memory that would haunt the 9-year-old Cynthia for the rest of her life. It was part of the reason she did not open her eyes when she woke up to snooze the alarm, so she could get hear bearings, realize where she was and not expect anything shocking, before she actually opened her eyes.
Cynthia’s siblings stuck together, braving storm after storm, and moved out slowly as they started families of their own. Cynthia knew she would never have access to quality education, would never be able to get a good job, or even get out of her shabby little hometown. She was a realist and she saw things as they were. But during school, something extraordinary happened. It was Martin Luther King Junior’s speech, ‘I have a dream!’
Cynthia soon forgot about his dream, but the words ‘I have a dream,’ stuck by her. Cynthia had a dream too. A dream to have a better life, a dream to work in a good place, and a dream to see the world and, maybe, that heaven on earth, Switzerland. She did not dwell on any of these dreams too much, far-fetched as some of them were, but she resolved not to leave any stone unturned if she ever had a chance to do something. She would realize her dreams just as Martin Luther King Junior had. She would have a better life. And then one day she found an opening for a maid in a hotel that was a 45-minute walk away from her village.
Cynthia did not have any money so she walked all the way just for the job interview, and she got herself hired. It was a 5-star hotel at a hill station, a very fancy place where all the rich people came to stay during their vacations. Cynthia knew that with hard work and dedication she could climb the ladder, and while her start was sweeping floors and scrubbing toilets, she would be able to prove her worth and get herself into a good position. And it was precisely that, her hard work, dedication, and sincerity, that had led the 15-year-old Cynthia who started as a maid to become the general manager of the hotel 15 years later.
Now all the regular guests knew Cynthia, some had even seen her make progress and become successful, and the new guests liked her as well. She did her job remarkably well but still strove to support her family. But as her family grew up and her job became more demanding, she finally moved out of the little house in her village and took up residence in a tiny apartment near the hotel.
Cynthia loved her job, because every day and every second it reminded her of the progress that she had made. She had realized more of her dream than she’d ever really expected. Every time she asked herself, “Who do I do this for?” she answered, “For me, myself.” But, lately, the answer had started to feel empty. Cynthia wondered if maybe it was time for her to dream a new dream.
As she sat in her chair in the hotel, looking for an answer, a guard arrived and dropped the post on her desk. On the very top was an envelope that stood out, unusual and unexpected. She opened it quickly, read it, then read it again three more times just to be sure. The answer she had been looking for had arrived in the most unexpected way and, as she read the letter again, she smiled.
Chapter 2: The Stranger From Switzerland
5 Years Ago…
It was a cold snowy day. Cynthia had recently moved into her new apartment, a short walk from her hotel. Having bought a new apartment, finances were tight, and Cynthia hadn’t had enough to buy herself a new coat, one that was suitable for her new post. And so, in that very same skirt, blouse, and coat that were her uniform, she prepared to go to the hotel. She wore a scarf around her hair, a small defense in the face of the harsh snowstorm that awaited her.
As she opened her apartment door, she was greeted by a cold whiff of wind that chilled her to the bone. She closed the door quickly. Now her own cold apartment suddenly seemed warm to her, her unmade bed more inviting. Alas, she had to go to work. With a new resolve, she stepped out of the apartment and locked the door.
The path to the hotel was a winding, hilly road. Composed and ready, Cynthia braved the storm and marched toward the hotel in the face of the wind and the snow. The soft, tiny snowflakes sharply caressed her cheeks, so small yet harsh.
All the windows were closed, the streets were empty, the sun barely beginning its ascent from behind the clouds; the town, it seemed, was deserted. Smoke could be seen rising from the chimneys. Half the people were in their cozy beds while the other half were probably sitting by the fire, getting ready to start their day.
It was a cold and a harsh day, alright, but it was also a very beautiful day. Cynthia admired the beauty of her own town as she walked; it seemed as if suddenly the rest of the world had disappeared from view and the spotlight was on her town only. She saw everything in a new light. She passed by a tree, and although she could not see any birds, she could hear the hatchlings. She could hear the wind whooshing past her, the shuddering of the old trees, the sound of the snowflakes as they fell softly to the ground, and footsteps…
She heard footsteps. Distressed, hurried, confused footsteps. She continued walking at the same pace, the footsteps drawing nearer, until a figure emerged beside her.
“Good day, ma’am!” said a gentleman.
He was dressed for the weather, wearing sweaters, a scarf, gloves, a hat, a coat, and an overcoat.
“Good day,” said Cynthia without looking at him.
“I am looking for the Pine Woods Hotel,” he said, “but I can’t find the way, what with this weather.” He took a napkin out of his pocket and wiped his glasses.
“I work there,” said Cynthia. “Follow me,” she said coldly, as her teeth began to chatter. Cynthia was beginning to feel cold, too cold for comfort.
“Here, put this on,” said the man, taking off his overcoat and wrapping it around Cynthia’s shoulders.
Cynthia did not want his coat. She was fine the way she was, she did not want pity and sympathy from others. But it was an incredibly cold day and once the coat was on her shoulders, she did not want to take it off.
“Thank you, sir,” she said, still shivering.
“I am Matthew, but please call me Matt.”
“Thank you, Matt.”
“Here, eat this, it will help,” said Matt, giving her a small bar of Swiss chocolate.
Cynthia took the chocolate and put a small chunk of it in her mouth. The chocolate started melting, turning soft, a taste she’d never had before. She looked at the wrapper and didn’t recognize the brand, the Swiss chocolatier unfamiliar, but it tasted better than any chocolate she had ever had before.
“Thank you,” she said again, “this is very good.”
“It is from my hometown, I always keep some with me,” he said.
Despite her intentions, Cynthia found the man interesting. She had always wanted to travel to Switzerland, always wanted to learn more about it. They got talking and kept up the conversation all the way to the hotel. Cynthia learned that the man was a writer, and he planned to stay at the hotel for a week to focus on his novel.
“We have all sorts of rooms at the Pine Woods,” said Cynthia. “It’s an ancient 100-bedroom manor turned hotel,” she added.
“I’ll have your best room,” he said.
“What sort of novel are you working on?” asked Cynthia from behind the receptionist’s desk.
“Err…I am still working things out. It deals with the subtleties, complexities, pains and discomforts of human beings,” he told her.
“How do you expect to write about the discomforts and pains of human beings from within the most comfortable room we have,” asked Cynthia, wryly.
Matthew froze for a moment, then regained his composure.
“Fine, put me in the simplest room you have,” he said.
“I will,” said Cynthia without looking up.
“Will you?” asked Matthew with an eyebrow raised, with half a smile.
“Yes, I will,” said Cynthia. She looked up from her desk, saw him looking at her with puppy eyes. For a second, Cynthia tried to glare at him, trying to be badass, but something in his expression weakened her. Both of them broke into a laughter together.