Savage Game: A dark billionaire romance (Savage Billionaires Book 1) Read online

  They reached a mahogany wooden door, and Mr. Nolan held it open and summoned her to enter. Inhaling deeply and squaring her shoulders, Charlotte slipped past him and fought the urge to pick up her pace. Despite his marred face, he was... attractive, or maybe because of it. His clothing was expensive and didn’t hide his powerful body, his scent was seductive and masculine, and he radiated heat and authority. When seated at her husband’s poker table, she hadn’t realized how tall and imposing he was—

  “Please have a seat.”

  —nor how sensually his voice would stroke her nerve endings. She jerked and then glared when she noticed the smirk on his face.

  He had pushed the door closed and leaned his shoulder against the wood. With his arms crossed in front of his chest, an expensive watch peeked from under the fabric of his sleeve—Total arm porn.

  Oh, damn, Charlotte, get your mind out of the gutter.

  She pulled her stare from his forearms and raised her gaze to meet deep-set cobalt-blue eyes, and the intensity there threw her off balance. Or even more off balance. Her body responded in an embarrassing way. Every inch of her skin came alive as if static energy crackled across it, her breasts grew heavy, and her nipples hardened—all from the sheer impact of his gaze.

  Charlotte pulled on the lapels of her blazer as if the thin fabric could hide her reaction or shield her from sexual magnetism and alpha strength.

  As she took in his unapologetic stare and air of self-possession, she forced herself to take a seat on the white leather sofa. He was intimidating, and sitting while he stood seemed wrong... no, dangerous. Refusing to give him any more power over her, Charlotte called on her inner core which always helped her in dealing with Liam and waited him out.

  He didn’t speak or move for a long time, only staring at her and sizing her up.

  Does he find me lacking like Liam does?

  The thought was strangely disconcerting.

  Finally, he unfolded his arms and pushed away from the door. Mr. Nolan stalked toward the sofa. Despite his noticeable limp, he moved with an animalistic grace.

  Her breathing slowed, as if she were a deer threatened by a predator. A predator who was currently looming over her. A predator with muscles rippling beneath his tailored suit. She was no match for him.

  Hell, I’m no match for Liam and he’s about half this man’s size.

  He sat down in the chair on the left side of the sofa. The arrangement angled his body in a way that obscured his scarred side from her. Was the man self-conscious about it? Immediately, she discarded her silly thought. He was arrogance personified.

  He unbuttoned his suit jacket and leaned back with his elbows on the armrests and his fingers steepled in front of his chin. Up close he was even more imposing, and his relaxed pose amplified rather than dulled the impression of controlled strength and power.

  Her eyes skittered around the room and strayed to the mahogany door.

  “You’re not going to renege on the deal I made with your husband, are you?”

  His challenge broke through the fog in her mind and every thought about running fluttered away. Her hands shook, and she folded them in her lap.

  I so don’t want to know what Liam got me into this time.

  She didn’t want to go down that path. But she wasn’t a coward nor a dishonorable person. Whatever deal Liam had made, she was going to hold up her end of the bargain.

  She dipped her head and her bottom lip trembled. “I’m not sure what the deal is.”

  “Come on, Mrs. Randall, you can’t possibly be that dense.”

  Indignation raised her chin a bit higher. “Liam didn’t disclose what I’m going to have to do for you. My husband simply issued the order to be here today and told me I would be working for you for a month.”

  “Working for me?” Mister Nolan stroked his chin and cocked his head, giving her the full view of his face. “The cowardly bastard didn’t explain our deal at all?” He narrowed his eyes. The scars around his left eye pulled in a painful looking way. “For the entire month you’re mine to do with whatever I please.”

  She couldn’t have been more shocked if he’d dropped a bomb. Horrible images of whips, chains, and dungeons flashed before her eyes, and her breathing halted before it turned ragged. This man could do so much more harm and damage than Liam, and there were days she could barely walk while under her husband’s roof.

  How am I supposed to survive a month with this monster?

  Because now she knew he was a monster, too.

  What kind of man would buy a woman?

  What kind of man sells his wife?

  They were silent for a long moment, then his amused voice broke the quiet, “And now she is afraid.”

  Well now.

  Inwardly he grinned. His first impression had been she would bolt from the room. His second guess was she would fold and cry.

  He angled his face away from her again—somehow unwilling to frighten the pretty little prey who wandered so willingly into his lair. She surprised him, and women rarely did.

  Women in his world came in two categories: heartless and ruthless gold diggers who wanted him for his wealth or simpering little submissives starving for some attention and willing to look past his scars to experience his brand of dominance. Neither category could hold his interest for very long, but this appealing little thing didn’t seem to fit either category, and the paradox had him intrigued.

  When she’d turned around in the hallway, her eyes—green and somewhat tilted like those of a cat—had been cautious and startled but not repulsed or frightened. Usually, if his sheer size and power didn’t frighten the little ladies, his marks did evoke at least one of the emotions.

  However, when Byron moved to stand in front of her, she’d shown signs of submission but not revulsion. The revelation had thrown him off-kilter, and he’d been brisker with her than his usual self. He was honest enough to confess his usual wasn’t hearts and flowers either.

  Every time he expected her to falter and wilt, she would raise her stubborn chin and face his challenges head-on. He wanted to bite the pointed chin, clamp his teeth around the flesh and keep her in place like that. Stare her in the eyes and wait for the surrender in them. A surrender that would come. She would submit to him; there wasn’t a speck of doubt in his mind. He shifted his hips to give his cock more room as he lengthened and hardened, but this wasn’t the time or moment to indulge himself.

  The object of his current obsession sat motionless on the sofa, but her eyes had narrowed. Ah. He suppressed his smirk.

  There’s that backbone and fire I’ve seen glimpses of before.

  Her spunk pleased him.

  Byron was tired of women who acted to please him. He wanted real, raw emotions—even when they were ugly. He had the feeling this woman on his sofa buried a well of genuine emotions under the veneer of an obedient housewife and was pleased her bastard of a husband hadn’t beaten it out of her. Yet.

  Byron didn’t allow himself to dwell on the thought. He was looking forward to a month of play. A disconcerting thought crept up on him like a rumor could plummet or skyrocket the stock market on Wall Street.

  What if thirty days isn’t enough?

  Not liking the conflicted emotions and thoughts, he squinted. Time to get this settled.

  He bent his knee and placed his ankle on the opposite leg, getting in a more casual pose and relieving a little of the pressure on his dick. He stroked his hand over his mouth, hiding his smirk, as her gaze strayed over the muscles of his thigh bunching and straining the fabric of his expensive slacks.

  He locked his gaze on her. She didn’t squirm or avert her gaze. A smart prey didn’t take their eyes of its predator.

  It wouldn’t save her, of course, but it made his respect for her dial up a notch. So did his desire to claim, control, and captivate. He wanted to dig under her skin, invade her mind, and bare her soul. He needed to find every weakness and flaw.

  “To do what you please?”

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; Her face impassive, she studied him. Last weekend, when that asshole Connolly slid his hand under her skirt, he’d noticed how she schooled her features, but her eyes couldn’t hide her true feelings. Today, tension simmered in those deep green orbs. Shifting again, he took a closer inspection. She might school her features, but the little facial muscles she couldn’t control, and the lines beside her mouth and eyes were strained.

  She cleared her throat. “I guess I’m not going to clean toilets or do any filing this month, am I?”

  Byron thought he knew women, knew what drove them, but Charlotte wasn’t like any female he’d met before.

  She was submissive, obeyed her husband. If poker night hadn’t proven her obedience, her presence right now in his house confirmed it. She seemed to pack more guts and honor in her pinky finger than the fool she’d married had in his entire burly body.

  However, she didn’t falter under his command. Not many people didn’t. It spoke of strength, an inner core he wanted to reach. She was attracted to him. He’d detected how she involuntarily arched her back, thrusting out her chest and exposing her neck. He didn’t miss how she ran a hand down a thigh in a sensual caress or how her lips parted, and her tongue darted out several times to touch her lips, leaving them moist and slightly swollen. The lust built inside him. But she was holding back from him, and withholding any part of her body, mind, or soul wasn’t acceptable to him.

  “Oh, there will be cleaning and cooking and quite possibly some office work as well on the agenda.” He clenched his hands, aching with the need to touch and explore and fought against his response to her. “You’re mine, Kittycat, and I don’t want anybody else in the penthouse for the entire month.” He cupped his chin and leaned on his palm. “Having you work as my private secretary has merits, too. Now strip and show me my prize.”

  Her mouth dropped open and she froze.

  “Need help?” The eyebrow on the unmarred side of his face slid to his hairline.

  “No!” She shot to her feet and eyed him as if he were a tiger ready to pounce.

  Then he sighed. “I’m not planning to rape you, Kittycat. I want to inspect you. Also… I want to burn these clothes he bought for you.”

  Burn them? But...

  “Earpiece has my suitcase.”

  “Earpiece?” He gave a low, sexy rumble of laughter and shook his head. “Earpiece! Earl is going to love the nickname you gave him.”

  “It’s not like he introduced himself.”

  Mr. Nolan stroked his chin, again drawing her attention to his muscular forearm. His strength terrified and excited her, and wasn’t that just dumb?

  “Your shoe size outmatches your IQ.” Liam’s nasty voice reverberated in her mind.

  Mr. Nolan made an admonishing sound in the back of his throat and warned, “In about fifteen seconds you get my help whether you want it or not, so quit stalling.”

  His intimidating gaze ran over her face, shoulders, and clenched hands. Up again.

  “Five. Four.”

  “All right, all right.” She held up a hand and kicked off her heels.

  He tilted his head in a silent command to continue.

  She shrugged out of her blazer, folded the sleeves over it, and placed it on the sofa. She hesitated.

  What should I do? Start with unbuttoning my blouse or lowering my skirt.

  Again, he made the throaty sound she’d quickly come to recognize as a warning. She fumbled with the zipper and the skirt fell to the floor.

  As she bent to pick up the discarded garment, he reached out and stroked a finger over the skin visible through the opening of her blouse. Charlotte sucked in a breath and stilled.

  Now he will grope me, squeeze my breasts, torment my nipples. Will it hurt? Will he rape me?

  “Soft.” He almost sighed the word. “Continue.” He sat back in his chair, leaving her wobbling on her legs.

  She placed the skirt on top of her blazer.

  Surely, he isn’t going to burn the set, right?

  Uncertainly, she peeked over her shoulder at him.

  Eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushed, and his hands loosely curled around the armrests, he was clearly enjoying the sight, and her own cheeks burned.

  Damn you, Liam, for getting me into this predicament.

  With trembling fingers, she worked the buttons of her blouse, her insides wanting to be done with the little knobs and on the other hand wishing she had a thousand of them. She didn’t like how clumsily she was opening her blouse, but if she could, she would have prolonged the moment she’d be exposing more skin to his scrutiny.

  She started to turn away to put the garment with the rest of her clothes on the couch as he ordered, “Drop it.”

  “What?”

  “Drop. The. Blouse.”

  Trembling, she did as he commanded, revealing her torso and the light-blue bra with see-through lace at the tops of her breasts. The undergarment was one of the push-up varieties and made the most of her B-sized breasts. She’d bought it online on a whim in the hope to please Liam. Of course, she never could please her husband.

  “Did you wear that for him?” He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees.

  There was an accusation in his tone she didn’t understand. “N-no.”

  Disbelief etched his features and distorted the scars even worse. “No?”

  She shook her head and dropped her gaze. Her voice just above a whisper, she confessed, “I bought it about a month ago hoping it would please him to see me in it, and somehow I chickened out each time I wanted to wear it.”

  “And you’re wearing it now, because…” His voice trailed off, a clear message he expected her to fill in the blank.

  “Because I was uncertain about today, and I wanted to feel good about myself.” She bit her lip in self-recrimination and wondered why she blurted the truth out.

  It always gives Liam power over me.

  Giving power to this ruthless man would be worse, and she couldn’t afford to give more than she already had to this man. He would devastate and annihilate her without blinking an eye!

  Only the creaking of the chair warned her he’d moved, then he lifted her chin with one finger and forced her to make eye contact. “You should feel good about yourself.”

  Um?

  “Nice, your panties match.”

  The warmth in her cheeks spread to her ears and the back of her neck. “They do.” Although he made it a statement, she replied. She fought the urge to drop her eyelids.

  Stupid, stupid woman.

  He let go of her face and settled back on his seat. “You may keep the set.”

  Surprised, her head whipped up.

  Is he into mind-fucking like Liam?

  For a moment, neither of them moved or spoke. There was no deceit in his face, and she inclined her head. “Thank you.”

  His features softened, and she almost relaxed.

  2

  Day Two

  Charlotte wasn’t sure how she’d gotten through yesterday unscathed. Mr. Nolan had taken her clothes, and she had no clue if he’d burned them as he’d threatened. The rest of the afternoon had gone by in a bit of a blur. Mr. Nolan had given her a tour of the penthouse, which, in fact, was his living quarters as well as his private office space.

  When the tour was done, he’d ordered her to shower, wash her hair and shave—which she’d done without protesting. She had marveled at the variety of toiletries and the expensive cleansing products all from high-end brands.

  After she returned to the bedroom, she’d dressed in the French maid’s costume he’d left for her on the bed. From running her fingers over the shiny material, she’d been certain the dress was made of pure silk and probably cost more than the ensemble she’d arrived in. The skirt was also much shorter than the one she’d worn, and she’d fought the urge to tug the hem down for most of the day.

  However, things could have been worse. He hadn’t touched her in any sexual way after running his finger over the swell of her breasts du
ring their first encounter. He did go over his expectations, which mostly consisted of keeping his house clean and his belly filled. She could totally meet those expectations. Although Liam always criticized and berated her, she was a damn fine housewife.

  He also expected an hour of physical exercising from her, which had come as a surprise, but was still doable and was nothing to freak out over. At least, there was no reason it would cause a meltdown from her as it was a nonsexual, PG-rated command.

  The rest of the requirements were in an entirely different league, and she was so far in over her head it wasn’t funny.

  Not only did he give her a limits list containing activities which either made her cringe in horror, gasp in outrage, tingle in all the right—wrong—places, or blink in confusion, he’d also given her a journal, and an instruction sheet on poses. Some of those poses had her blushing even now as she remembered them.

  Being the coward she was, she’d placed the three items on the little desk in her room, yes, her room, and ignored them for the better part of the evening. All things considered, her situation could have been, and actually often had been, worse, and she dreaded the moment the other shoe would drop.

  And now she was procrastinating over breakfast preparations. Mr. Nolan—and wasn’t it awkward to live together in close proximity with a man who bought her and call him by his last name—told her he wanted to eat at eight o’clock sharp, but she was hesitant to enter the dining room with his meal. After mental pep talk number eleven that morning, she picked up the tray from the counter and pushed her way inside the dining room.

  She froze as he lifted his gaze from the tablet he was reading on, arched the eyebrow on the good side of his face, and tilted the iPad to look at his watch. She swallowed hard, straightened her spine, and marched inside with a bravado she didn’t possess.

  Fake it until you make it, right?

  He gave her a barely noticeable nod of his head in greeting without a word. Only the sound of the antique clock broke the morning quiet as it announced the arrival of eight o’clock.