Coerced (Billionaire romance): Blackmailed by the Billionaire (Buchanan Romance Book 1) Page 7

  What was this strange chemistry between them? They were clearly opposites but he sparked an electric need inside her that defied reason.

  Maybe it was the same for him.

  Elizabeth allowed him to wash her, even between her legs and when they were finished, they dried off and climbed into the bed.

  Sutton’s arm curled possessively around her to pull her close and she was too tired to fight it.

  This wasn’t normal and a life with Sutton wasn’t actually on the cards but she’d be a liar if she didn’t admit that pressed up against his solid length, his arm around her, felt pretty good.

  Too good.

  Particularly for a woman who was more accustomed to being overlooked by the hot guy rather than pursued by one.

  The last thought that drifted through her mind as she dozed off to sleep was, gotta admit, it’s a nice change…even if it meant being pursued by someone like Sutton Buchanan.

  Bookmark: 9

  -9-

  Sutton finished buttoning his sleeve and paused to watch Elizabeth still curled in the bed.

  It took everything in him to refrain from climbing back into that bed and doing dirty things to his sleeping beauty but duty called and his cousins were miserable task masters.

  Elizabeth, in sleep, was a porcelain princess with alabaster skin and plump, pouting lips that begged for a kiss.

  Everything about her was sweet and soft, giving and generous.

  He found the soft rolls of her belly very pleasing when he was pressed up against her.

  He hadn’t thought to sleep with her but when he’d seen all of her belongings in the master bedroom, he’d discarded the idea of putting her in the spare bedroom.

  Did that give him pause? Hell yes, if he stopped to think too long about it.

  The fact was, he rarely invited any of his bed partners to share his actual bed with him.

  Too personal, too much of an invasion of his privacy to tolerate and yet…he couldn’t imagine Elizabeth being anywhere but tucked up beside him.

  Was this the trap his cousins had fallen into? Hadn’t Penny started off as his cousins property? Their “concubine” as they liked to call it?

  And now she was married off to Dillon, pumping out baby Buchanans like a happy brood mare.

  Sutton suffered a shudder. He wasn’t about to share the same fate. “Elizabeth, time to wake up,” he said sternly, grabbing his suit jacket and swinging it over his shoulders.

  Elizabeth awoke with a groggy blink and yawn and those glorious tits came into view as the sheet slipped.

  For a brief second all the thoughts in his head tumbled out of his head and all he could do was appreciate the view.

  He considered himself an equal opportunity connoisseur of women’s attributes but Elizabeth’s breasts…good God, she broke the mold.

  He wanted to bury his head between those beautiful globes and suck on the dark pink nipples until they pebbled like ripe berries.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, her voice thick with sleep as she struggled to open her eyes.

  Sutton snapped back to the moment at hand and answered brusquely, “Work. Now, listen closely, I have a day of plans for you scheduled.”

  At that Elizabeth frowned and struggled to sit up, wiping at her eyes and —regrettably — clutching the sheet to her chest. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I have a designer coming this morning to measure you for new clothes and you must be presentable. I want you showered and dressed with a light application of make up when the designer arrives.”

  “Make up? Why?” Elizabeth asked, grumpy. “I hate make up.”

  “Because otherwise, you will look washed out in the pictures.”

  “Pictures?” She straightened, suddenly awake and seeming apprehensive. “What do you mean, pictures?”

  “The designer will take pictures of you in each creation and text it to me so I can decide whether or not I would like to purchase it for your wardrobe.”

  “What if I hate what you pick out?”

  He regarded her coldly. “And that would matter why?”

  “Are you ever not a prick?” Elizabeth grumbled, pulling the sheets closer. “Last night in the bathtub you tricked me into believing you might actually have a soul.”

  “Well, I’m happy to disabuse you of that notion,” he said. “As I was saying, the designer will send me the photos and I will decide. This should take all day. Prepare yourself accordingly. There is food in the kitchen but feel free to order what you like. I’ve left you a credit card you can use for household shopping needs.”

  “Are you going to be gone all day?”

  A smirk curved his lips. “Will you miss me?”

  She narrowed her gaze. “No.”

  He laughed at her outright lie. Her body told a story that her mouth couldn’t hide.

  To demonstrate, he strode to her and gripped her chin for a sweet, yet demanding kiss that he knew she felt to her toes because he did, too.

  He released her after a long moment that crackled with chemistry and left them both breathing hard.

  “Try not to forget about me, pet.”

  “Too late,” Elizabeth retorted with a shaky dismissal and he laughed as he let himself out of the apartment.

  Was his step lighter than usual? Well, he did have that visual of a nude voluptuous women in his head. That would lighten any red-blooded American male’s step, right?

  Ahh hell, maybe he ought to just forget about Elizabeth for now and focus on work.

  At least that was safe.

  ***

  After a long shower, Elizabeth found her way in the kitchen and searched for something to appease her yowling belly.

  She was ravenous!

  She’d always read that sex was good exercise but seeing as she’d never been particularly active in that department until recently, she’d bypassed all those pages in the magazines.

  Okay, let’s be honest, she always bypassed diet and exercise pages because she loved food — as evidenced by the generously slathered cream cheese on her bagel — and if that meant she was a bit soft in the belly and thighs, then so be it.

  Besides, it wasn’t as if guys were pushing down her door to spend time with her — which was just fine with her.

  Her art was all that mattered.

  Speaking of…she took a generous bite of her bagel and went to her bag to find her sketchpad.

  Immediate glee lifted her heart as she settled into a corner of the immense sofa with her soft-lead pencil and pad and started to draw.

  It didn’t surprise her that the first thing that came to mind was Malvagio. True, it’d been horribly mortifying to realize she’d been surrounded by all sorts of sex in varying degrees of completion but the sensuality of the place had really been her undoing.

  Her muse had been kicking to be let loose as her fingers itched to draw something wicked and carnal even as her mind had balked at the very idea.

  She was a good girl! She didn’t sketch penises, for goodness sakes!

  What would her mother say?

  An unlikely smile found her lips. Her mom would’ve laughed.

  Nadie Downing had been a bit of a free spirit in her youth, from what Elizabeth had gleaned from the stories.

  In fact, if Nadie had had her way, Elizabeth would’ve been named Rayne but Elizabeth’s father had intervened, suggesting the more traditional name as a nod to his grandmother.

  Well, you’re not exactly a Rayne, anyway, so it all worked out.

  Rayne Downing? Ummm…yeah no.

  Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe she’d been more adventurous if she’d been given a name that was a little wild instead of the safe, traditional name that practically implied I NEVER BREAK ANY RULES. EVER.

  Wouldn’t what she was doing right now say she was breaking rules? Surely.

  Not many people she knew sold their virginity to mega-rich men for an ungodly sum.

  Well, that’s not true. Prostitutes probably d
id that at some point. Had to break in that saddle at some point, might as well get some cash for it, Elizabeth countered to herself.

  Before too long, Elizabeth realized a picture was emerging, something sinful and wild. As she stared, she realized she was both horrified and fascinated that it’d sprung from her fingers.

  A major departure from her usual work.

  It was…dangerous. Either a career killer or something that could launch her into the stars.

  A bubble of nervous laughter popped from her lips. Wow. Delusions of grandeur, much?

  She rose and hurriedly tucked the sketch away, her cheeks burning at the very idea of anyone setting eyes on something so deeply disturbing and realized with a start that the designer was about to show.

  Anxiety fluttered in her belly at the thought of being measured and pinched, prodded and judged.

  Designers didn’t make clothes for people her size. They made clothes for people who were shaped like a hanger.

  As if summoned by her apprehension, a soft knock at the door signaled that the designer had arrived and Elizabeth was tempted to go hide in the closet and wait for them to give up and leave.

  Yeah, and imagine what Sutton will do when he realizes you didn’t obey his direct command?

  Oh screw Sutton and his rules.

  But by the third knock, Elizabeth was dragging herself to the door, loathing every step but still going to answer.

  Cringing, she opened the door with a tiny, nervous smile to find a rather normal looking — although very elegant — lady wearing a welcoming smile on the stoop.

  “You must be Elizabeth,” she said with the loveliest touch of a French accent. “Of course, you are. Look at those exquisite cheekbones and those to-die-for curves.”

  At Elizabeth’s obvious shock, the woman chuckled and walked past her, saying, “Darling, we shall have so much fun together. Shut the door ma petite chou, we have work to do.”

  Bookmark: 10

  -10-

  Elizabeth began to close the door and follow the woman, only to realize with a start that an entourage came with her.

  She stepped away to allow the army of people come in, sets of people pushing racks of assorted clothing until the living room looked like a department store with a clearance sale going on.

  “Oh gosh,” was all Elizabeth could manage as the woman returned to her with an outstretched hand.

  “Bonjour, let us introduce ourselves as we are to become quite fast friends.” The woman clasped Elizabeth’s hand in a gentle but efficient shake. “I am Chantal and I will be your designer from hence forth as per Mr. Buchanan’s desire.”

  Elizabeth sighed and cast a nervous look toward the racks. “I doubt there’s anything that will fit me on that rack if you came thinking you were going to outfit a supermodel.”

  Chantal laughed, a light, tinkling sound of delight and mirth that Elizabeth couldn’t help but enjoy. “You are adorable, ma cherie. No, you have a lovely figure, all rounded hips and curves. Never fear. We came prepared to dress you as a queen deserves.” She paused to wink. “As we know the Buchanans suffer no disappointments.”

  Ah yes. The Buchanans and their infernal reach. “Do you know Sutton well?”

  Chantal motioned to her assistants and a tape measure was placed in her small hand. “I’ve known the Buchanans much longer than most,” she answered with a brief smile. “Now, darling, I will need you to strip to your skin. No modesty, dear. We haven’t time for such things.”

  Elizabeth gaped and instinctively her hands went to her breasts even though she hadn’t even undressed yet. “Is that necessary?”

  Again that laugh.

  “You are so sweet. It’s no wonder Sutton fancies you. Now, off with those rags, if you please. I cannot do my job with all this” she waved her hand dismissively at Elizabeth’s clothing “distracting me.”

  Knowing there was no help for it, Elizabeth slowly removed her shirt and soft cotton shorts until she was standing in her bra and panties.

  “That too,” Chantal instructed and Elizabeth wanted to groan. Chantal gave Elizabeth a look of understanding, then said, “My sweet, you have a beautiful figure and nothing to be ashamed of. You have the body of a voluptuous goddess, so flaunt it! Now off with it; we are on a tight schedule.”

  How could she refuse Chantal’s sweet but firm request?

  Elizabeth unsnapped her bra and dropped her panties, cheeks flaming like the sun at high noon.

  Chantal soon started measuring like a French butterfly flitting in and around Elizabeth’s body, alighting here, exclaiming with delight there, until Elizabeth was completely measured for future creations.

  And then started the exhausting part.

  Chantal, had indeed, brought clothes that would fit well enough to gauge interest and style until fresh clothing could be made to fit.

  Elizabeth was shocked to learn that dressed stylishly, she wasn’t as hopeless as she’d always believed herself to be.

  It was possible to admit that she looked quite nice, which was quite a revelation as Elizabeth had long stopped wistfully wishing she’d look like a model someday.

  But you know what? She felt like a freaking model today and it was, a little bit, awesome.

  After make-up and hair was done to match, Elizabeth didn’t know what to think about who she’d been transformed into but a tingle of excitement tickled her spine at the idea of being someone new.

  Someone who didn’t hide from the mirror or from people.

  Someone who owned the skin she lived in — no matter what size that happened to be.

  “Ahh, very nice,” Chantal said with warm approval at the red cocktail dress clinging to her curves like a second skin.

  Then she shocked Elizabeth when she reached into the dress and resituated Elizabeth’s breasts as if she were rearranging decorative glass globes! “There! Perfect.”

  Elizabeth gasped but then one of Chantal’s assistants propped the full-length mirror in front of her and she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

  The dress — never something she would select for herself in a million years – accentuated her flared hips and showed off her shapely legs while the bare shouldered bodice pushed her breasts up until they practically flowed over.

  Her blond hair, curled and piled on top of her head, showed off her soft, rounded shoulders and petite dangly diamonds hung from her earlobes.

  Chantal nodded with happiness as the air escaped Elizabeth’s lungs in a whoosh.

  “Yesss…Sutton will not be able to resist you in this dress — that I can promise.” She winked conspiratorially. “That dress on your body…a combination that puts rings on fingers, if you know what I mean.”

  “Oh!” Elizabeth shook her head, flushing at the very thought. Married to Sutton? The idea was preposterous but Chantal didn’t know their backstory.

  Yet, there was a niggling suspicion that even if Elizabeth shared all the sordid details of how Sutton had basically coerced her into being his sex toy, Chantal would just laugh that cute little laugh of hers and roll her eyes as if entertained by the story.

  Chantal was French, after all.

  “We don’t have that kind of relationship. He…”

  “Of course, you don’t, sweetheart,” Chantal said with a secret smile.

  Oh dear. What did Chantal think of her?

  Swallowing, Elizabeth forced a smile, saying, “I only work for Mr. Buchanan. Trust me, he doesn’t have romantic ideas about me.”

  Chantal waved away Elizabeth’s statement and snapped her fingers at her assistants who then began to clear away the evidence that they’d been camped out all day in the living room.

  “Darling…I have never been summoned for anyone who wasn’t something to Mr. Buchanan. Perhaps he does not know how he feels yet. But after he sees you in that dress…”More tinkling laughter “He will not know what hit him. Au revoir, beautiful girl. Enjoy!”

  And then they were gone.

  Elizabeth stared at herself
in the bedroom mirror, still shocked by the transformation that an army of stylists could create.

  Mon dieu, as Chantal would say.

  Yet, even as dazzled as she was by the change, she could still see the nervous, shy girl reflected in her own blue eyes.

  Would that Elizabeth always live with her? Something told her…yes.

  So what exactly did Sutton see in her?

  In her secret heart of hearts, there was a desperate part of her that wished to see what Sutton saw, the reason why his eyes hardened with instant lust, why his hands seemed to twitch with the need to touch, and why, above all else, why he’d selected the wall flower when he was most likely surrounded by delicate, exotic blooms.

  But to admit that would be to admit that she cared and she refused to care about Sutton in any way.

  He wasn’t allowed in her heart.

  Not ever.

  ***

  Although Sutton had considered going to pick up Elizabeth, he deliberately ignored his impulse and desire, choosing instead to send a car for her.

  It was important to keep a reminder between them that she was his property and operating at his will and that meant being as his disposal if it pleased him.

  And it pleased him to have her brought to him like a pretty, plump package just waiting to be undone.

  But as he enjoyed his brandy, awaiting her arrival at the restaurant Swank he wasn’t prepared for the jolt his heart gave as she walked into view.

  Mouth suddenly dry, his heart banging like a drum against his chest bone, he fought the urge to stare at the vision walking toward him in what seemed like slow motion.

  Was that music in his head? Or was she actually walking to the tune of ‘Pretty Woman’? No, that wasn’t possible.

  But good-fucking-God. That dress. Those hips. AND THOSE TITS!

  And then he realized he wasn’t the only one staring and a possessive growl threatened to rip free from his lips.

  Sutton recovered enough to rise with a reserved but approving smile as he helped her to her seat, unable to stop gazing at how her lovely, bared shoulders begged for the press of his mouth.

  “People are staring,” she murmured, glancing around nervously. “Is there something wrong? Is the dress too tight?”