Taken by a Stranger (BILLIONAIRE BEHAVING BADLY SERIES Book 1) Read online

  TAKEN BY A STRANGER

  BILLIONAIRE BEHAVING BADLY SERIES

  1

  By

  HOLLY STONE

  Taken by a Stranger – Billionaire Behaving Badly Series 1 Copyright © 2015 Holly Stone

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United Kingdom. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Art by Holly Stone (Image from Stockfresh.com by Feedough)

  REBECCA

  If I told you I was a good girl, a respectable girl who made sensible decisions, would you believe me? Maybe if you met me before all of this took place you would. I was twenty-six, successful in my career, with pretty limited sexual experiences which had all taken place within relationships. I’d kissed a few others but never thought about one night stands or casual sex until a business trip to Atlanta put me in a hotel bar with him.

  I can’t blame everything on him. He didn’t have magical powers that charmed me into behaving in a way that was totally out of character. He was just a man after all; an incredible man with eyes that seemed to see beyond the obvious.

  If I was being honest, it was everything that had happened before I met him that made me vulnerable. The past failed relationships and disappointments that had led to my feelings of hopelessness when it came to emotional commitment. It was the frustration that, despite doing everything right, things hadn’t worked out as I expected. I’d been hurt by those I trusted and I didn’t want to get burnt again, no matter how clichéd that sounded. I just couldn’t see the point in looking at interactions with the opposite sex as precursors to long term obligation when I was terrified to give of myself emotionally.

  And maybe, if he hadn’t been there at that time when circumstances had left me so exposed, I would still be a good girl who made sensible choices. But he was there, in all his suited glory, and when he took me I knew I would never be the same.

  ***

  It was 5pm Atlanta time as I sat in the almost deserted hotel bar nursing a very early but very necessary gin and tonic, stifling a jet-lagged yawn. I was still on London time, trying to relax in a booth that had a view of the door and through into the lobby. I’d picked up a newspaper for company but nothing grabbed my attention so I flicked through the emails on my phone to pass the time.

  I was there on a business trip to sell software to a company based in the U.S. This wasn’t my first trip across the Atlantic but it was my first to Georgia. I used to find travelling for work exciting – flying business class and seeing somewhere new – until I realised that all chain hotels look the same and I would be based mostly in business parks in uninteresting suburbs off a freeway. Now I was resigned to the inevitable boredom, usually getting through it with a few too many drinks and maybe some retail therapy.

  I was tired enough to sleep but knew if I turned in this early I would end up awake in the middle of the night with only the mini bar for company. Somehow, drinking in public seemed less tragic than knocking back tiny bottles in the privacy of my room.

  There were three other people in the bar; the barman who had smiled a little too broadly when I’d approached to order my drink and two ruddy looking men with worn out brief cases engaged in deep discussion. With the opportunities for people watching so limited, I returned to my phone. After a couple of minutes of idle browsing I looked around and found myself gazing straight into the greenest eyes I had ever seen.

  The man was walking from the bar towards a table near mine, with short-glass of amber coloured liquid, but as our eyes connected he paused momentarily and then continued in my direction. His gaze stayed fixed to mine until he was standing over me, his impressive tall frame casting me in shadow. “Are you alone?” he asked. I was at that moment and in my heart I’d felt alone for so long I’d forgotten what it felt like to be connected.

  “Yes,” I said because it was true and because the feeling of his eyes on me was so intense I momentarily lost the ability to think of a good enough rebuttal to steer him back to the table he’d first intended to occupy. That one word was enough for him to think it would be okay to sit down opposite me in the booth and rest his glass on the table. A presumptuous move but one I didn’t object to. There was still time. I could finish my drink and leave. No big deal.

  “I hate drinking alone,” he said without the warming smile I expected from a stranger in this kind of situation. The smile that says, ‘hey, I’m a nice friendly person and you’re safe having a conversation with me’. Instead, he leant back and I felt one of his ankles press against mine as he stretched his legs out under the table. My first instinct would always have been to move, but his action had seemed so deliberate and his eyes burned with intent that it made me feel embarrassed to pull away. Typical Brit, I thought, too polite to make a scene even when I had every right. The stranger tipped his head to the side, still holding me with his serious green gaze.

  In the seven years I’d been dating I’d never felt the kind of instant attraction that drove women to drop their knickers without the ‘getting to know you’ phase that progresses neatly through the bases over an acceptable length of time. Maybe it was his seriousness, or the languid way he moved. Maybe it was his confidence or the lack of mine at that moment but under his scrutiny I felt my mouth go dry and my thighs press together involuntarily. He must have felt it because his eyes flicked to mine in response.

  His hair was sandy brown, styled to perfection, and his skin lightly tanned across his straight nose and cheekbones. In a sharp grey suit that clung to his broad shoulders and biceps he was the archetypal hot executive, but my eyes were drawn to his mouth which was full and pressed into a serious line.

  If someone had asked me to describe my perfect man, I would have said dark hair, dark eyes, and a friendly smile. But somehow, this stranger with his cat-like gaze and raw magnetism was everything that made my heart flutter and palms sweat. I was aroused and it had been a long time since I felt like that without the aid of a dirty book or saucy romantic movie.

  “You’re English,” he said, a statement rather than a question, and I nodded, still unable to construct a coherent sentence. “Here on business?” He raised his glass to his lips and swallowed half the drink. Those lips, the flash of the inside of his mouth, the swipe of his tongue made me woozy.

  “Yes.” The whispery sound of my voice surprised me but I carried on. “Just for two days.” He nodded and leant forward, pressing his leg against the inside of mine more firmly.

  “Me too,” he said as though our identical schedules somehow connected us. “You’re not married?” he asked, reaching for my left hand and running his thumb along my ring finger. I flinched slightly, more at the intrusive question than his assumption that caressing me would be fine after we had exchanged such limited conversation, but he didn’t let go.

  “No.” I watched him as he looked at my hand, still stroking my fingers.

  The way I was behaving was so unlike me. I didn’t like talking to strangers and I certainly didn’t appreciate them taking the liberty of touching me, but at that moment I didn’t want to move away from his gentle caress. The stranger looked up at me again and I found myself licking my lips, suddenly thirsty. When I reached for my drink and knocked it back in one gulp, he smi
led. “What was it?” he asked. When I told him he slipped out of the booth and returned with another drink for us both, pressing his leg back against mine as though that was where it was meant to be.

  “Thanks,” I said, and took another big mouthful, relishing the cool sensation against my gums and down my throat.

  “Drinking to forget?” he asked quietly, still so serious, as though he could see inside me to the gaping hole in my chest and the loneliness I felt seeping from every pore. It was disconcerting to realise how badly I concealed it and to feel so naked even though I was fully clothed.

  I shrugged my shoulders, not wanting to go where the answer might lead. “I’ll drink to that,” he said and downed his half-finished drink, pushing the empty glass along the table and reaching for the second. “What shall we drink to now?” He moved his leg ever so slightly, easing mine apart under the table and I shuddered as the air hit the bare skin on the inside of my thighs. He nudged my drink towards me with the back of his hand and held his glass, waiting for my response.

  “To something worth remembering,” I said, looking at my drink before downing it in one gulp. He paused, his eyes suddenly darker, and did the same. I knew I was playing with fire. I knew I was provoking him but it didn’t feel wrong. It felt dark and exciting, like liquorice on my tongue.

  I wanted to know what was in his glass, to taste what he tasted as he seduced me with his words, presence and actions. “I’ll have one of those,” I said and he nodded, rising to go to the bar and returning with a matching pair of amber filled glasses. I brought it to my nose, smelling the rich aroma of whisky that I knew would burn all the way to my stomach. I wanted to feel the heat hoping it would distract from my aching heart and the strange feeling that was growing low in my belly the longer I looked at him. When I drank, the heat made me gasp and he grinned; the first smile to grace his mouth was breath-taking.

  “That noise you just made is something for me to remember.” I felt a flush rise to my cheeks and his eyes sparkled as though he relished my embarrassment. Under the table his feet pushed in between mine and very slowly eased them apart again. All the while he held my gaze, watching my mouth as my lips parted with my thighs.

  The alcohol was making its way into my bloodstream but I wasn’t so drunk I didn’t know what I was doing. He hadn’t told me his name but I knew what his mouth would taste like if I slipped my tongue inside it and the thought of it made me want to moan. The bar was gradually filling up with people seeking pre-dinner or after work drinks. He leant forward. “Would you like me to give you something to remember?” he said, low and deep. It was a simple question but the intension behind it was so loaded I felt my clit pulse and my pussy tighten. The sensible thing would have been to say no, but I was far from wanting to be sensible. Sensible hadn’t gotten me anywhere I wanted to be. I felt numb inside but also strangely reckless as I realised I had so little to lose. The fates had put me in a booth with a beautiful stranger who had already managed to spread my legs and make me forget my troubles. Who was I to argue?

  “Yes,” I said, in a breathy voice that was almost lost to the background noise. I wished I had sounded more certain. Maybe things would have been different somehow. I guess I’ll never know. In response his smile was devilishly sexy and he reached across the table for my arm and held his finger to my wrist where he would be able to feel the racing of my pulse.

  “Good girl. Now, take off your panties.” I gasped again and glanced around at the people sitting at the tables nearest us. My hesitation annoyed him and he pushed against my ankles again, demandingly. “Don’t think,” he said, and because he willed it, I did it. He smiled as he watched me push the edges of my knickers down through the fabric of my skirt and his eyes flashed dark and hungry. As I wriggled from side to side the movement rubbed up against my already sensitised flesh. When my panties were finally past the hem of my skirt I pulled my knees together and followed them down with my hand until they were over my shoes and balled in my fist. The wetness in them left a cool trail down my legs as shameful evidence of my arousal. I looked up at him and watched as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip. I imagined that tongue stroking against my skin. Innocent places first like the soft spot where collar bone meets neck, just below my ear lobe and maybe the underside of my wrist that he had caressed with his finger, then moving on to teasing licks around my nipples and over my clit. My cheeks felt like they were on fire.

  He put his hand on the table, palm upturned, and I gave the lacy thong to him, trying to conceal what I was doing from anyone who was close enough to notice. He slipped them into his jacket pocket. “Something for me to remember you,” he said with one raised eyebrow and I realised that each step was a challenge, a little push to see if I wanted to be on the journey with him and if I would play his games.

  “What’s your room number?” he asked, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hesitate to tell him. Playing with a man while in the safe surroundings of a bar was one thing but taking that game into the privacy of a hotel room was another. I looked up into his eyes, the thud of my heart so hard in my chest it was like a drum, my thoughts flicking between agreement and resistance. Then, in a flash of impulsivity, I slid my key card across the table. He took it as though he’d had no doubts I would give it to him, and stood, waiting for me to get up too. I put my phone in my bag, all the time thinking oh my god, am I doing this, am I really doing this, feeling giddy with the wrongness of it and the rightness. As I slid out of the booth he had to reach out to steady me as I wobbled on my heels. Maybe he thought I was drunk or maybe he already knew that my knees were weak with desire and anticipation.

  My stranger didn’t hold my hand like a lover but instead rested his heavy palm against the small of my back to steer me out of the bar and to the lift. His touch was firm and so hot through the cotton fabric of my blouse that I was torn between the urge to pull away and fierce desire to press back against him. I was delirious and he was in control, hitting the call button, keeping his hand against me as we waited, tantalising me with the tips of his fingers which moved to caress my bottom. The lifts were at the back of reception so anyone coming in through the main doors would have been able to see what he was doing but something about the slow rhythm of his movements and how good they felt prevented me from stopping him. I was trembling as I watched the numbers counting down towards us, panting with anticipation.

  The doors opened.

  We stepped inside and I leant against the wall needing the solid surface to prop me up. When the doors closed he moved quickly to cup my face, using his thumb to stroke against my lips until they parted. I couldn’t stop myself from running my tongue against his skin and taking it into my mouth. He tasted salty, delicious, and his eyes were wicked with intent. When he smiled and stepped closer using his other hand to stroke slowly up the outside of my thigh I couldn’t hold in the moan that had been bursting to get out of me since he had spread my legs in a crowded bar. The material of my skirt bunched up against his arm and when his hand cupped the bottom of my arse and squeezed, I bit down on his thumb and he jumped from the pain and laughed.

  “Doors opening,” the lift announced and the stranger disentangled himself from me and steered me out into the corridor. The journey to my room seemed longer than it had earlier, and he put his hand against the back of my neck so I would keep up with his pace. He was tall, a few inches over six foot and so broad that I felt tiny and fragile next to him.

  At the door he used my key card to gain entry and he put the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the handle before closing it and locking it. He turned to me, first just to look me over as if he was deciding exactly what he was going to do to me. Then he surprised me by reached out to loosen my ponytail, allowing my dark hair to tumble down my back. “You’re beautiful,” my stranger said before stroking the sleek length from root to tip, twirling a soft tendril between his fingers. “Your hair, your skin, these freckles…so innocent.” I took a step back as he ran a finger down the slope of my no
se. He stepped in closer and I smelt rich whisky on his breath, the scent of an expensive fragrance and his warm skin. “Are you innocent?” he asked, breathing the words directly into my ear.

  I shook my head, eyes wide, looking to gauge if he was disappointed but he didn’t seem to be. He pushed me so I was pressed against the wall, and leant down to brush his lips across mine, so gently it was like a whisper. I couldn’t breathe as I waited for him to kiss me again and when he didn’t I opened my eyes to find him gazing at me waiting.

  “Not innocent then but…sad.”

  It was a strange thing to say at a moment when we were both being driven by our physical urges rather than our emotions. Or maybe that wasn’t true, at least for me. My body craved his but my mind was looking for something too. A balm for the sadness he could see and an opportunity to let go of feelings I had buried and were slowly eating away at me. Taking him to my room was a way of me saying a big ‘fuck you’ to Jonathan and the negativity and deceit he had brought into my life.

  My stranger’s hands found the buttons of my blouse and he undid them all, drawing the fabric apart and easing it over my shoulders so it slipped to the floor. I stood with my hands at my sides as he ran his fingers lightly down the side of my throat and across my collar bone. He teased me with his touch following the line of my pink lacy bra, his eyes never leaving mine, holding me captive while he worked to make my body shake. His fingers slipped under the lace until they found the hard point of my nipple and squeezed it, gentle at first and then harder until I cried out.

  “Look at your perfect little tits,” he whispered, leaning down to flick my now bare nipple with the hot point of his tongue. “So white, so soft…so sweet.” I could feel the wetness slipping out of my pussy and I squirmed as his every touch made me ready for what was to come. “And your nipple, so small and pink and hard.” He took it between his teeth and bit down viciously enough for me to cry out. His mouth left my breast wet, moving to kiss me again harder and more demanding, his tongue mimicking the action I imagined his cock would make later. I moaned involuntarily and felt him smile against my mouth as if he had been seeking my reactions as evidence of his success. His hand squeezed my breast, the other pushing me to the wall and so he could press his rock hard erection against my hip.