THE BILLIONAIRE'S LOVER

1 | IN WHICH SHE BECAME SICK.

'Shall we go?' Damian Gold asked, and before she could agree, he imperiously clicked his fingers for the bill.

Outside, Damian hailed a black cab. It was such a warm evening that Malora carried her coat in her hands. Damian gave the address to the cab driver and they climbed in. Malora's dress rode up her thighs, and when she tried to pull it back down, Damian put his meaty, white hand over hers and in a firm voice ordered, 'Leave it.'

Embarrassed, Malora looked into the rearview mirror. The taxi driver was observing them. Wordlessly, she draped her coat over her exposed thighs and knees and turning her face away from Damian, stared out.

Damn him, and Damn me for agreeing to this in the first place.

Then she remembered why she was doing this, and she had to bite her lip to stop the cry of anguish threatening to escape her lips.

How she came to be in the company of someone like Damian Gold was of her own will and his orchestration.

After the devastating call that changed her life, Malora had approached Damian, the man who owned the publishing company she worked for, to ask him for quite a outrageous amount of money. As the company's accountant, she'd known exactly how much the man had. In response to her request, he'd asked her to accompany him out to wherever he went tonight without any question.

She'd agreed.

First, they'd stopped at a fancy French restaurant, where Malora drank an unhealthy manner of fancy, bubbly champagne. She'd declined the Oyster and ordered vegetable salad instead, not sure she could stomach that food because deep down in her mind, she knew what was coming next. But that didn't mean she was prepared for it.

And now, here they were, in a cab heading to an unknown destination.

As she gazed unseeingly out, Malora felt his hand slide under her coat and settled on her thighs. Biting her lip,  she tried to ignore the hand, but it was steadily slithering upwards. When it was almost at her crotch she caught the offending hand in a firm grip. Malora turned to him and looked him in the eye.

'We don't have a deal yet.'

'True,' he said in a mild and reasonable way, and retracted his hand, but the smile on his face was taunting and smug. He had already figured out that she needed the money desperately and would do anything for it.

The rest of the journey passed in silence while her stomach churned.

Malora was so nervous she actually worried she would lose the few vegetables she did eat on the floor of the cab. Fortunately, the taxi turned into Bishop's Avenue and they came to a stop outside a massive stone building loomed over the extensive grounds like a forbidding castle in some gothic novel. There were fancy cars parked bumper to bumper along the length of the street.

Damian paid the cab driver and they walked up a short flight of steps to a set of black doors. Damian rang the bell and looked down upon her orange dress in dismay. Malora tried to pull at the hem, but her efforts at modesty were counter-productive, as more of her cleavage fell into view.

'Don't worry,' Damian said cheerfully. 'You'll do.'

The door swung inwards to show the small entry room, where a huge security guard stood behind a table, looking so ogrelike he was almost cute. 'Good evening, sir, miss.'

Damian's grip closed around her arm like a band of steel.

'Good evening.' Malora closed her mouth before she called him Shrek.

He held out his hand. 'Papers, please?'

Malora knew what he was talking about. Damian had asked her to stop at the doctor's the day before. As Damian handed over the doctor's certificates and money, Malora eased her arm away.