How to Seduce a Billionaire
Read How to Seduce a Billionaire Online
Authors: Portia Da Costa
Contents
Sneak Preview of
The Accidental Call Girl
The virgin and the billionaire...
Just because Jess Lockhart is a virgin in her late twenties doesn’t mean she isn’t interested in men. In fact, far from it: she fantasises about finding the perfect man who can fulfil her every desire.
Her new boss, handsome billionaire Ellis McKenna, seems perfect for the job. It is clear he is as attracted to her as she is to him. However, a tragic past has left Ellis vowing to never do ‘serious’ relationships again. Having allowed herself to be seduced by a billionaire can Jess teach him about love?
If you like
Fifty Shades of Grey
you’ll love this!
Portia Da Costa is one of the most internationally renowned authors of erotic romance and erotica, and a
Sunday Times, New York Times
and
USA Today
bestseller.
She is the author of seventeen
Black Lace
novels, as well as numerous short stories and novellas.
The Accidental Series:
The Accidental Call Girl
The Accidental Mistress
The Accidental Bride
Novels:
Shadowplay
The Tutor
Entertaining Mr Stone
Continuum
The Devil Inside
Hotbed
Suite Seventeen
Gemini Heat
Gothic Blue
Gothic Heat
The Stranger
In Too Deep
The Gift
Short Stories:
The Red Collection
He was tall, dark and handsome. Always tall, dark and handsome. A romantic cliché, but who was she to argue with her subconscious?
Dream Lover didn’t speak as he climbed into bed with her. He rarely did speak. Her fantasies were visual, not auditory and her own sighs and moans were all the soundtrack that she needed.
Falling back against the pillows, she let her imagined lover take the lead. His smile was enigmatic as he loomed over her, a subtle play of light and shade, but his eyes were vivid and dark with desire. Aquamarine and too brilliant to be natural, they almost dazzled her as he moved in close to kiss her. His lips were mobile and velvety, and the contact compelled her mouth to yield, his tongue demanding entrance, and thrusting fiercely.
Oh yeah!
Fantasy hands settled on her body, the contact firm but not rough as he explored her. He cupped her breast, squeezing lightly, thumb flicking back and forth, driving her crazy even though he’d barely begun his magic. She squirmed, every bit of her coming to life. Especially certain bits … The touch of his fingertips was smooth and warm, sliding easily against her skin. It felt lovely and made her wriggle even more … until an intrusive memory popped unwelcome into her mind.
A nearly-man, someone she’d once dated and hoped for great things with, he’d had callouses on his fingertips when he’d touched her. They’d felt horribly rough against her skin when he’d tried to sneak his hand up her blouse, and it’d destroyed every chance she might have had of getting turned on.
I’m my own worst enemy. Everything has to be perfect when in real life it probably never is.
As she banished the thought with a furious shake of her head, her hair lashed against the pillow as if she were already in the throes of orgasm. Still without speaking her phantasm-man soothed her, gentled her. His touch both calmed her down and shook her up at the same time, and he stroked her breasts, one then the other, alternating, knowing just when to switch. Then, kissing harder, he drifted that enchanted arousing hand further down, cupping her crotch in a light grip that employed a pinpoint degree of assertion and confidence. Her legs lolled apart of their own accord, making room for his exploration. Seducing him …
Of course, it went right. Why wouldn’t it? It was all idealised. Questing, he parted the hair of her pussy with those perfect fingertips, dipping in to touch her clit. She gasped, always astonished to be so wet at these times. Lost in her fantasy though, it was easy to get slippery and silky, effortlessly easy.
She cried out, her own voice sounded shockingly loud. Usually she was able to keep the noise down in a shared house, barely articulating any more than wordless Dream Lover did. For a moment, she worried that her house-mate Cathy would hear her, but then told herself not to fret. She’d never heard any sounds of erotic partying from Cathy’s room, and her housemate led a happy, uninhibited sex life with a real, live lover. Cathy was normal, and shared good times with her steady man.
She’s younger than me too.
No! Another intrusive thought … It was a weird night tonight. Somehow she was more turned on than usual, and yet at the same time less able to concentrate on making Dream Lover real.
What had got into her? Had she lost it completely, from all this incessant brooding on … her situation?
Closing her eyes tight, she focused on the dream man who was making love to her. He was passionate and beautiful, and though she still saw no exact likeness of him, he was somehow clearer. She didn’t force the issue though. She had other priorities. Something else she needed to keep from slipping away … Sensations that could be as fugitive as they were precious and exquisite.
Stroking, stroking, stroking. The pressure, the pattern just right. No man would ever match her own fingers. No man would ever map her own body as she did.
No man had ever even had a chance to try, because no man was perfect.
Stop it! Don’t go there. Focus, idiot!
Slipping, circling, swirling, Dream Lover banished her conundrum. His touch and the way it journeyed over the folds and dips and hotspots of her sex was matchless; dominant without being domineering, powerful without being rough. The gathering pleasure made her rock her hips, jerk and thrust against the contact. But Dream Lover was Dream Lover and he didn’t miss a beat.
Gasping, she rose to him again, imagination finally taking over, the fantasy and the sensations becoming one. As if sure of her readiness, the man she’d conjured up moved over her, gracefully settling between her legs, his idealised cock pressing for admittance against the entrance of her sex.
The unknown country.
But it felt right. It felt wonderful. Hot. Solid. An iron-stiff rod pushing inside her, yet living and sensitive. Driving, thrusting, possessing, the rhythm divine and metronomic. The way he knocked against her clit with each plunge triggering pleasure that bloomed like fireworks, streaming up into the heavens and taking her with them.
Her teeth clamped hard together, keeping in her shouts, but inside she cried,
Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!
Whoever you are …
Afterwards, she lay still and gasping. Wrung out like a dishrag, sweaty and dishevelled.
This was getting ridiculous.
You need to get a real man, you bloody fool. You need to find out what it’s really like. Nobody but a nun is still a virgin at twenty-nine nowadays, regardless of whatever life ‘stuff’ happens to them.
Holding out any longer for some crazy ideal of a perfect man was stupid. There
were
no perfect men, and if she kept holding out for one, she’d find herself holding out forever, and end up as a dried up spinster with only her sketching and good works or whatever to keep her occupied. She’d bet good money that any normal woman would be prepared to sleep with more than a frog or two in the hopes that one of them might turn out to be moderately princely.
Waiting for desire was daft. The years were flying by. She had to go half way, and take a risk;
work
to feel passion. Just sitting around expecting lust to suddenly arrive, kaboom, was pathetic.
Next time a nice man with potential crossed her path, she had to give him a chance, and not keep turning away because he wasn’t Dream Lover.
As long as he’s just a little bit tall and dark and handsome …
Shaking her head, she sat up and smoothed down her nightgown.
Time to draw …
‘Oh no! Why today? Why do you have to do this to me?’
Jess Lockhart stared up into the pouring rain and almost shook her fist. She would have done it if there hadn’t been cars whizzing by, driven by people who’d think she was a loony; cars that flung up sheets of muddy spray that soaked her shoes and legs as they passed.
Why had this happened just when she wanted to look her best at work? She didn’t normally dress up. Smart casual, in fact very casual, was her usual look. But today she wanted to appear a bit more polished, just in case, because of the mighty, exalted VIP who was visiting.
Not that the new owner of the insurance group she worked for was likely to descend from on high to tour the cubicle farm. Why would he? He was a businessman, a tycoon, a financier. He wasn’t interested in what the lowly drones at the coalface were doing, just the monetary assets that Windsor Insurance, his new acquisition, represented.
‘Why does nobody I know ever drive past?’ Jess growled at no car in particular.
This was the busiest part of the city and not everybody was going in the same direction, but surely somebody else was heading for Windsor Insurance? But most likely they wouldn’t even recognise such a rain-soaked and bedraggled mutt as their work colleague.
Now, if she’d got up in good time, she could’ve checked the weather forecast and known that sharp, heavy showers were on the way. But no, she’d been awake half the night, stupidly fantasising about Dream Lover, and then equally stupidly trying to capture his image on paper. Consequently, when it was time to get up, she’d slept in, woolly-headed and weary. If she’d woken up at her normal hour, she could have begged a lift from Cathy, but she’d left it too late. Cathy was an angel, and she’d offered to wait … but that would have made her late for work too.
Now you’re paying the price for your midnight shenanigans, dimbo, and as you didn’t even have the foresight to bring an umbrella, you’re going to get soaked to the skin between the bus station and work. Brilliant!
Blinking water out of her eyes, Jess realised that the hair that had begun as a chic and elegant up-do was fast collapsing, its structure undermined by the teeming deluge. With a muttered oath, she pulled out the securing clip, and slung it aside in disgust, to run her fingers through the thick straggles of her sodden hair.
So much for ‘maple syrup’ low-lights and a twenty-quid conditioning mask.
Just about to retrieve the clip, she darted back from the kerb’s edge. Despite the double yellow lines and ‘No Stopping’ signs, a vehicle actually was pulling up beside her now, its slowing speed only splattering her with a light swish of rainwater this time. Her hairclip was crushed to shards beneath the wheel of a distinctive, retro looking powder blue car. A long, low, classic Citroën. An uncle of hers had driven one once upon a time, and she’d always loved riding in it, because of the way its suspension made you feel as if you were floating on air. Happy, innocent days those had been, when she and her sister had accompanied her uncle’s family on sketching holidays to Cornwall.
