The Billionaire's Desire

Chapter 1

The plane had been in-air for roughly six hours when Ally Elizabeth woke, the
colorful portfolio on the tray in front of her.

I fell asleep…when did I fall asleep
?
she thought.

She yawned, stretched as much as she could without disturbing the people around her and gazed out the window of the 747, happy the airline had been able to accommodate her with the innermost seat, her favorite. It was dusk; she checked her watch and saw that they would be
nearing the airport in about an hour, which gave her sufficient time to finish flipping through the portfolio of vibrant, tropical paintings, at least one of which she would hopefully return back to the States having acquired.

“Hummm,” the woman sitting next to her murmured, a bleac
hed-blonde about her age who was still napping, the weight of her hand steadying the Tattle-Tale magazine which sat closed on her lap.

Ally glanced over at the sound and her eyes were drawn to the irresistibly attractive people on the cover. She craned her neck to read the headline.

Gemme Hosts Party of the Season, Honors Local Artists, This Weekend in St. Tropez
. The smaller subtitle queried:
Is Fashion’s Most Eligible Bachelor Finally Tied Down? Catherine Federoff Dishes on her Budding Romance with Luc Jeneau
. The photo was a candid shot taken from some party the two fashion powerhouses had attended together.

The renowned
waifish Russian beauty, a runway and editorial model as well as the long-time face of fashion house Gemme, Catherine Federoff was wearing a miniscule silver sequined dress to compliment her enormous, million-wattage smile. Her stick-thin arms draped around the shoulders of a dashing, sophisticated man in about his mid-30s, impeccable in a slim-fit tailored navy suit. He was tan, taut and his lips formed the faintest of smirks, as if he knew, in the moment the bulb of the camera had flashed, that this photo would appear in every gossip magazine the world over.

Ally pursed her lips and refocused her attention on the paintings, but her gaze kept wandering to the man and woman on the cover.

*

Luc stood, bent against the ledge of his sea-view balcony, his eyes skimming over the expanse of blue-green water that stretched as far as the horizon. It was May, warm but not oppressively so, and he was comfortable in a
simple white linen button-down. He swirled the crisp pear-flavored wine in his glass before taking another sip, savoring the delicate flavor.

If there is one thing I have learned to do in these last few years, it is savor, is it not?
Yet he had to chuckle at the thought that he was congratulating himself for taking it easy. He had never taken anything easy, had worked nonstop since he was 16, never stopping and no end to it in sight, though the manner of the labor had certainly become more refined since then.

“Monsieur Jeneau – all arrangements are in readiness for the evening,” Gilles, his butler
and sometimes confidante, announced.

“Ah, Gilles, it seems no matter how many years pass, you can always creep up on me unawares.
How do you do it?” His deep, rich voice was warm, laughing.

The compact, wiry Frenchman in a plain but well-made black suit only betrayed a hint of a smile. “Monsieur, serving you is a lesson in discretion,” he replied before disappearing as abruptly as he’d materialized.

Luc gave the glittering sea one last longing look before turning into his opulent chateau, through the ornate French doors that were kept flung open most of the time, allowing the salty sea air and the perfume from the ground’s formal gardens to waft into his bedchamber on the warm breezes of the Cȏte d’Azur.

A black garment bag hung from a free-standing clothes rack near his walk-in closet. He unzipped it and scrutinized the contents with a critical eye.

The cut is not so good as ours…still, I suppose the Valentino should suffice.

He stripped off his white button-down, revealing perfectly chiseled abs that rippled as he moved about, tossing his expensive
linen garments onto the bed and pulling on the freshly-pressed white dress shirt and black suit. Luc stood before his full-length mirror, adjusting the sleeves and smoothing down the collar of his shirt. He stared his reflection down, his eyes as dark as twin pools of obsidian. It was time to go downstairs and begin greeting guests.

*

She was standing by herself, a solitary figure in a short black sheathe. Luc had noticed her when she arrived, had been momentarily distracted by the freshness of her appearance, in stark contrast to the jaded glitterati, celebrities and social climbers who normally populated Gemme parties. But Catherine had called him over to introduce him to a new photographer that she insisted was the next big thing, and the blue-eyed, blonde-haired beauty hadn’t crossed his mind since, and that was hours ago.

Catherine had disappeared, which was just as well as far as Luc was concerned, because she normally clung onto him so in these publicized events, as if photographs in People magazine gave their relationship security. The enchanting blonde stood off on her own, one foot crossed in front of the other as s
he looked, intent, at one of the newer pieces Luc had bought from his friend, Alec Albert, to add to his personal collection. The woman before him was shorter, shorter than Catherine (who wasn’t?), but strapped into chunky five-inch heels that made her slim white legs look as long as anyone’s. She’d accessorized her short tunic simply, a string of pearls that hung low in the back, little diamond studs in her ears, her white-blonde hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. Luc took her in even as he moved closer, drifting away from the cluster of partygoers who spoke in rapid, trill French.

He thought he might have noticed her at some point regardless of where she stood; like him, her attire for this avant-garde celebration was almost too formal, too polite among the wildly-printed and sequined cocktail dresses and boldly colored and patterned suits.

As Luc closed the distance between them he could breathe in her scent:
lemon and raspberries
, he thought, his mouth watering suddenly.

He pressed his hand against the small of her back as he spoke.

“You gaze at this piece with such intent. Do you like it?” he asked simply, in English.

Ally turned her head to look at the new presence at her shoulder. “Yes,” she murmured, looking back at the painting as if she found its allure irresistible – even more irresistible than Luc.

He kept his hand where it was but scrutinized her more fully. There was no especial warmth, no melting into him, as most women did the moment he touched them.

Ally gradually realized in the silence he was touching her – touching her at the small of
her back, an intimate gesture, which he only disrupted to take a flute of champagne from a passing server and press into her hand. She side-stepped him, trying to ignore the expensive, clean scent of him and took a small sip.

“Then it’s yours.”

Ally blinked, almost unaware for a moment that he had spoken. “I’m sorry, what?” she asked. His accent was thick, she must have misheard.

“The painting that you so admire that you cannot turn and talk to me…I give it to you. A gift.”

Ally knocked the glass back and chuckled. “Oh, okay,” she remarked with equal nonchalance. Her eyes swam for a moment from the bright, expensive champagne. She crossed her arms and turned to face him.

She recognized him instantly, of course. Even if she hadn’t seen his face, that same half-smile, on the cover of Tattle-Tale earlier she would have known who he was. The question, however, especially after he had offered to personally gift her with a painting she’d been sent to St. Tropez to acquire for the museum and gallery where she worked back in NYC (with a budget of no more than $500,000) was:
what does he want
?

Armed with a purposeful sense of business and the knowledge that this man took lovers as casually as most people changed their underwear, Ally ignored the thud-thud of her heart and the embarrassing realization that in two minutes Luc Jeneau, and the monsoon of charm that he exuded, had her tense with desire.

Chapter 2

Thud
.

“
Oh
,” Ally moaned, her back hitting the thick, carved door before Luc’s mouth covered hers, his lips warm and soft and slightly open, as if he was teasing her with the promise of tongue.

Her eyelids fluttered open for a moment, one last-ditch attempt to act with reason, poise and dignity
, and she took in the dim coolness of the room he’d pulled her into.

“
Vous êtes sî sexy
,” Luc murmured, his mouth moving down her neck. He swung her against the priceless abalone mosaic wall of the downstairs bathroom, his hips grinding into hers, the hardness in his silk slacks growing thicker by the second.

What was that?
Ally wondered.
Something about…sexy
? It was impossible to think coherently against this onslaught of touches, tastes. It felt as if he had two spare hands the way he caressed every inch of her bare skin, skimming his fingers along the insides of her thighs, holding her at the hip to pull her into his erection, tipping her chin to meet his sinful lips, seemingly all at once. She ached for him, the infinite hardness of his body.

He licked and sucked at her neck, trailing down to dot his lips against her sensitive, trembling collar bone. She felt his fingertips, which had only just hinted at touching the hot, wet core between her legs, begin to slid under her short skirt in earnest. It was that, and the understanding of what came after, which forced Ally to speak.

“Wait,” she said, soft but clear. His hand stopped just an inch from her throbbing apex, tanned warm skin against her cool pale thighs.

“
Oui
?” Luc asked, puzzled. She was a strange woman indeed that could pause in the midst of his practiced seduction.

“Just…wait. I don’t…I don’t usually do this sort of thing…” It sounded feeble at best, the kind of protestation Ally knew a woman
should
say when a dark, handsome stranger takes her to his priceless bathroom to have her.

I didn’t even say
no, don’t, I don’t want to
, Ally mused, her heart thudding, her breath a low, rapid pant.
Because oh yes, yes, please, I want to
.

Luc used his free hand to tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet his dark-eyed gaze. Her blue irises sparkled like gemstones, passionate and inviting.

“You don’t say no,” he murmured, kissing her.

It was as if he could read her thoughts. “I don’t…”

“I promise I will not do a thing you do not want me to,” he said, his breath hot as his mouth trailed along her sharp jaw line to nibble on a sensitive lobe.

“Oh God,” Ally moaned again, her cause lost and forgotten. “Oh God, oh God,
yes
.”

She brought her hands up to weave her fingers through the dark mass of his shiny hair, alternately stroking and pulling as he worked his way down the column of her neck once more. She could feel her nipples tightening into hard nubs under her black lacy bra and cursed herself for not choosing something low-cut and easy to slip down.

Emboldened and encouraged by her body’s wanton response to him, Luc gripped her by the thigh and pulled her up onto him, so that she clung, her legs wrapped around his waist, while he swung their bodies toward the marble twin sinks. Settling her between the two, he stood back, kissing her right ankle while looking her directly in the eye. She was flushed, still panting and looking to him for the next move.

He grinned at her, unable to keep the satisfaction and exultation hidden.
But there was more to it: trust, understanding. He believed her when she said she didn’t do this kind of thing often, despite the fact that the maddeningly sexy curve of her hips and the high tightness of her round little ass under that short dress would suggest otherwise. She was ungodly sexy, aroused and willing to go outside her comfort zone, but innately, he wanted this to be as much for her as for him.

“Just lean back,” he urged her, licking the inside of her knee. Ally gasped with pleasure and went back onto her elbows, propped up just enough to keep an eye on him. He reached under her dress, which was bunched at her waist anyway, and slipped his fingers under the black lace of her cheeky boy-short panties. As he pulled them down her slim white thighs, passed her knees and off her ankles, he could smell the hotness of her wet pussy. It made his mouth water.

He flung the panties over his shoulder and lunged into her shaven cunt, his tongue licking her slit for cream like a greedy child with a pastry. He felt her entire body shudder, felt the rush of wetness on his lips and wondered how long it had been since she last had a lover.

Ally gasped as his face disappeared between her thighs. She was reeling, ready to pass out, as much from pleasure as from embarrassment. None of the men she’d been with before had been so keen about performing with their mouths on her, so for this – this
stranger
to just push her back and work her wet, quivering pussy with his mouth was borderline shocking. When she looked back at her reflection she had the visual evidence of just how uninhibited this man inspired her to be: her tiny waist was flanked on either side by her outspread legs, knees bent, and her face, pressed close against the glass, was dotted on each cheek with a circle of pink, like a doll.