The Billionaire's Christmas Bargain: Billionaires in Bondage, Book 3 Read online

  “How’s that?” Kelsey asked.

  Lilly jumped up and paced back and forth a few moments, and then whirled and leaned down over Kelsey. “You use whatever cover story Gordon’s cooked up to get in the door. Do a little flirt and tease, get him interested. Then tell him you’re a Mistress. Make him agree to your personal terms before you take it any further. Would that work?”

  “I feel like it’s important that he knows I’m a professional. That I do what I do for money. Because if that bothers him, I won’t be able to rock his world with a scene anyway.”

  Gordon knocked back the rest of his Scotch and leaned forward for the bottle. “I can certainly agree to those terms, and if he offers you more money on top of my fee, you’re welcome to it.”

  Kelsey polished off her glass and slid it across the table so he could pour her some too. “So how do you plan on getting me into the house without him kicking me out before we can test your theory?”

  Gordon poured them both another shot and lifted his glass in salute. “You’re my long-lost niece who needs a place to stay and a job. Just for the holidays.”

  Chapter Three

  It was amazing how many things could be accomplished with merely an Internet connection. Harvey could sell off a minor hotel chain in the Caribbean, consolidate overseas bank accounts, and filter that money through several different bogus corporate shells to steal his own company away from his aunt. All without ever leaving the privacy of his home.

  Drained, both emotionally and financially, he saved and closed the spreadsheets tallying his resources. He was still wealthy, no doubt, but most of his easily liquidated assets were now gone. As Maxwell had threatened, he’d been forced to cancel several traditional Caine holiday charities that would have amounted to over a million dollars. His parents had certainly taken care of the community. Of everyone, especially him. Right up to the bitter end.

  Thinking about the accident and his parents always made the pain come back. It would build and build until he’d be even more of a bastard to Maxwell and start drinking before lunch. It’s why he refused to put up any reminders of the season and a large part of why he’d stayed in the mansion in the beginning. He’d been hiding from the media, but even more, the sights and sounds of Christmas.

  The holiday when his own selfish actions had caused the death of the two people who loved him most in this world. How did people get over something like that? He might as well have taken a shotgun and blown their brains out. So yeah, no way in hell was he going to put up a damned Christmas tree and buy presents no one really wanted or needed. An already severely commercialized holiday had now become his own personal hell.

  A knock at the door broke his grim reverie. “Yes?”

  Maxwell opened the door and entered the room a few steps. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have a favor to ask.”

  A favor? Gordon Maxwell didn’t need favors. Generally he did whatever needed to be done, even if Harvey bitched about it later, though most of the time, Maxwell was right. All right, Maxwell was always right, but that didn’t mean Harvey couldn’t gripe about not being informed or asked his opinion first.

  “I’d like you to meet…”

  Harvey’s head jerked up but he didn’t turn around.

  Someone was inside his house. His sanctuary. Without permission.

  Someone who might gawk or spread horror stories to the media, who were always eager to print the latest rubbish for their gossip columns they tried to pass off as news.

  “My niece, Kelsey Marley,” Maxwell continued, as if he hadn’t stabbed Harvey in the back. “Kelsey, this is Harvey Caine, my employer, and the son of my longtime employers and friends, Melissa and Nathan Caine.”

  “You’re fired,” Harvey ground out, his hands clenching the arms of the office chair.

  Maxwell laughed. “A long-standing joke. He’s only fired me ten times this month.”

  “I mean it this time.”

  Approaching footsteps made him tense, every muscle straining to flee or kill, he wasn’t sure. Damaged skin stretched taut across his cheekbone and he involuntarily shook his overgrown hair down over that side of his face.

  “I’m sorry,” Maxwell whispered urgently. “She had nowhere else to go. It’s only a few days until she can move into permanent lodging the first of the year. She’s family. I couldn’t turn her away.”

  Harvey wanted to scream, I thought I was your family! How could you do this to me? But with a stranger in the room, he locked his jaws shut and refused to speak.

  “I promised a job to help her out with her finances while she’s visiting. I’ll keep her so busy you won’t even know she’s here.”

  He shook with effort to contain his fury. It strangled and choked him, a crushing weight on his chest that threatened to kill him at last. Maxwell was the only person he’d ever trusted completely, other than his parents. He’d taken care of his family through childhood illnesses, teenage rebellion, and grueling physical therapy and slow recovery since the accident. He’d joked that Maxwell would always be there, even by his graveside, because the old man would refuse to die himself until his charge was taken care of.

  So how could he do this? How could he bring someone in without a single thought or consideration for how that’d make Harvey feel? It was bad enough Maxwell had to look at him and deal with his unstable emotions, but a stranger? Let alone a woman.

  “Mr. Caine.” She spoke behind him, too close, as if she’d entered the room and neared his desk, though he hadn’t heard her steps. “Thank you so much for letting me stay. I’ve never had the chance to get to know Uncle Gordon.”

  His jaws throbbed, his teeth aching from strain as if they’d shatter. He managed to lift a hand, a careless, casual wave that they must have taken for acceptance. Maxwell turned and practically ran for the door as if he knew exactly how close Harvey was to exploding in a rage of epic portions. “I’ll go ready your room, dear. Upstairs, first door on your left.”

  “I won’t be a bother, sir.” Laughter lightened her voice with a hint of amusement that almost made him turn around, with a weird emphasis on sir as if she thought it was a joke. What did she find so funny? Him? A hand touched his shoulder and he flinched so hard he almost fell out of the chair. She dared to touch him?

  A low rumbling growl tore from his throat, a warning surely even she would understand.

  “Oh my. What a big, mean growl you have.” She chuckled, close to his ear as if she’d leaned down over him. He trembled, fighting the urge to leap to his feet. Whether to flee, or seize her by her shoulders so he could shake some sense into her, he wasn’t sure. “I’m not scared so easily, Mr. Caine.”

  “Who are you?” His voice sounded raw, each word rasping in his throat. “Really?”

  “I’m Gordon’s niece, sir.”

  “I’ve known him all of my life and he’s never said a word about having a niece in the States.”

  She squeezed his shoulder, so close he felt the hint of breath on his ear. “Surprise.”

  Damn her, and damn Maxwell. They made him do this. Hardening his determination, he slowly turned the chair toward her. He even shook his hair back off his face. She might as well get the full effect. He forced a smile, knowing the scars would pull his lips into an ugly grimace. His stomach quivered, a foul oil slick that made him want to heave. “I hate surprises. I especially hate uninvited guests.”

  He watched her carefully, waiting for the moment when her teasing smile would slip to horror. When she’d pale and take a faltering step backward. She looked nothing like her supposed uncle. Dark auburn hair fell to her shoulders in a messy pile. She wore a Notre Dame sweatshirt and a ratty pair of jeans that Maxwell wouldn’t deign to use as a rag, without an ounce of his style and flair.

  Her eyes held him though. Such a fragile jade shouldn’t have such weight, but somehow she managed to hold his stare until he looked aw
ay first.

  “Well, it’s a good thing I’m not uninvited, then. Nice to meet you, sir.” She did it again, that odd little hint of laughter behind what should have been a respectful title. She paused at the door and looked back at him, a twinkle in her eyes. “I like that wild mane of yours but you could really use a haircut to tame the beast a little.”

  He opened his mouth to retort something, anything, but for once in his life, Harvey Caine found himself at a loss for words.

  Kelsey closed the door behind her and leaned against it a moment with her eyes closed. She breathed deeply, trying to steady her nerves. Her pulse jumped around like a frightened rabbit. It’d gone well though. At least as well as could be expected, considering she’d barged in on a self-proclaimed hermit who refused to leave his house. He’d been angry, but she couldn’t fault him for that. He’d also been…scared. Afraid to reveal himself to her, for fear of her reaction. That fear tugged on her heartstrings and made her want to help him. He might not be submissive, but he could learn that a woman could meet him for the first time and not fall into hysterics.

  She hadn’t been prepared for him to be so attractive. His height was average and he was much too slim, but his eyes burned with an incredible fire that promised quite a challenge. So dark as to be almost black, his eyes were compelling, laden with dark secrets waiting for her to unbury.

  The left side of his face bore burn scars. It’d been ugly to look at—because she could only imagine how painful it’d been. How much more of his body bore scars like that? The pain must have been horrendous.

  He lived in a dark, stuffy mausoleum. From the outside, the house screamed old-world money with gray flagstones, brick and carefully manicured bushes. Inside, dark old wood gleamed with the beeswax of a hundred years, so still and quiet that each step rang like a gong. His office had been thick with shadows, heavy curtains closed against the sunlight and only a lamp on his desk. Unshaven, his hair thick and unkempt, his likely expensive clothes wrinkled beyond hope, as if he’d worn them for days. To live in this gorgeous, grand old house with more money than she could comprehend…and make it a grim, dead prison. Worse, he’d done it to himself. He’d locked himself up without any hope, lightness, pleasure or simple comforts, as if he was punishing himself.

  Punishing himself for still being alive.

  Maybe if she gave him a little real punishment, some real pain to distract him from the emotional trauma tearing him up inside, he could find a way to live a normal life again. Instead of beating himself up with guilt, he could have his ass beaten until he couldn’t sit down. He needed to stop dwelling on all the internal agony that twisted him into hiding from the world.

  No wonder Gordon had been so desperate and determined to help him.

  Remembering the way Harvey’s mouth had sagged open when she told him he needed a haircut, she decided to make this job as fun as possible. He needed to laugh and cry, to shout and beg and scream out all the frustration and grief he’d been carrying so long. He’d repressed his emotions for so long that it was going to be one hell of an explosion when she unlocked everything he was trying to hide.

  Chapter Four

  Harvey would have stayed in his office for the duration of his unwanted guest’s stay, but hunger drove him out after a matter of hours. He’d lost many things over the years, including the ability to sleep much or to leave his house, but he still had a large appetite. On Fridays, Maxwell usually made a large batch of Scotch eggs that Harvey snacked on throughout the week. His stomach grumbled and complained as if he’d starved himself for a week, rather than skipping breakfast after the woman had rattled him so badly.

  He felt like a damned thief skulking through his own house, tiptoeing around corners and ducking into shadows. Pausing outside the kitchen door, he listened for voices or rattling pans, but heard only silence. The kitchen was Maxwell’s domain, his favorite place in the house. Surely he wouldn’t relinquish control to the stranger. Harvey pushed open the door and breathed a sigh of relief at its emptiness. He rummaged in the fridge, popping an egg in his mouth and another egg in each hand. That should tide him over until later.

  Going through the other door to exit into the back of the house, he hurried up the narrow staircase meant for servants. He rounded the landing and slowed as he neared the second level to gape.

  The young woman Maxwell had brought into the house had evidently decided to take his job offer seriously.

  Dressed in a black and white maid outfit, she was up on a low ladder. Dusting.

  The black skirt was much too short for serious work. Since she was up high, and he was down low, coming up the stairs… He couldn’t help but look. She wore an old-fashioned garter and black stockings with delicate white lace panties. The stockings had a tiny white bow on the backs of her shapely thighs. He forced his gaze up, taking in her generous curves. She’d pinned her thick hair into a bun with a frilly white cap on her head. It should have looked ridiculous. No one dressed so extravagantly to dust.

  But on her…

  Her plain, ragged clothing had disguised her lush body.

  His steps slowed and he almost whirled to dash back down the stairs, but it was too late. She’d already noticed him. She came down off the ladder. Head down, he tried to slide past but she stepped in front of him. The bodice of her outfit was cut so low he could see the white lace of her bra and the pale swell of her breasts.

  “How dare you,” she whispered furiously.

  Startled, he jerked his gaze up to her face, his cheeks heating. Yeah, he’d been staring. What man wouldn’t?

  “He’s too old to take care of this monstrous house all by himself.”

  Harvey blinked, trying to get his sluggish mind to shift gears. “Maxwell?” He finally managed to say around the egg in his mouth.

  “Yes, Uncle Gordon. You’ve sent everyone else away, right? So he’s got this whole house to take care of, plus cooking for you, I see. What do you do around the house to help him? He can’t climb ladders any longer and he shouldn’t be slaving away day in and day out doing such menial work. It’s bad enough he has to cook and keep the kitchen tidy at his age, but the entire house? It’s selfish and mean of you. He ought to have a dozen helpers. Instead, all he has is me, and only for a few days. You need to fix this, Mr. Caine.”

  His throat tightened with dread, guilt and shock that someone had finally dared to call him on it. Maxwell was too busy handling him with kid gloves for fear he’d go off the deep end.

  He’d fired everyone but Maxwell, because he didn’t trust anyone else not to whisper about his scars when he’d first come home from the hospital. They’d shut off most of the house, including his parents’ rooms. Maxwell had told him they’d go through his parents’ things when he felt better, but he’d never been able to face such a monumental task. As far as he knew, his parents’ rooms were exactly the way they’d left them that night when they’d braved icy roads and blizzard conditions to fetch their wayward son from a drunken party.

  She sauntered closer with a sway in her hips that fluttered the skirt about her and made his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. “If I were a man, I’d ask you outside so I could beat the tar out of you.”

  In a way, that would make him feel better. It’d be ever so much more painful for another person to hurt him. Really hurt him. Maybe then he’d be able to stop striking out at the only person who still cared whether he lived or died.

  “I’m not a man, obviously, but I am a Domme, if you know what that is.” She let out a deep, husky chuckle that made him suck in a deep breath, almost choking himself on the half-eaten Scotch egg he still stupidly gripped in his mouth. “I ought to bend you over that big shiny desk of yours and beat your ass until you can’t sit down for a month.” She waved her fingers at him in a careless shoo gesture. “Go make yourself useful someplace. I have work to do. Sir.”

  He stood shell-shocked in the hall with
an egg half dangling out of his mouth. If nothing else, she’d certainly managed to rattle his cage.

  Headed down the hallway, Kelsey glanced back at him to be sure her words had registered. She let her amusement curve her lips and winked at him. She gathered up the ladder and dust cloths she’d been using and moved to the next station: a display case that contained a full suit of armor. Without looking at him, she set up the ladder and climbed up to dust the top of the case. Thick dust plumed in the air and she couldn’t help but sneeze.

  Footsteps neared but she didn’t look down from her work. With him still watching, though, she made sure to stretch and stick her booty out to show off her curves. And of course to make the skirt ride up as high as possible.

  Harvey cleared his throat. Hopefully he hadn’t swallowed that egg whole. “What was your name again?”

  She swept the cloth along the back, dislodging clumps of dust that danced in the air. “Kelsey.”

  He was silent a few moments, so she continued to work without pausing to look at him. Hopefully he wasn’t standing close enough to wear all the dust she’d dislodged.

  “And you’re Maxwell’s niece.”

  He obviously sucked at trying to come up with polite conversation. “Yes,” she drew the word out. “Several times removed and I’d never heard of him until recently.” She finished the top of the case, so she faced him and planted a hand on her hip, giving him a challenging look. “Is there something you wanted, Mr. Caine?”

  Averting his gaze, he shook his head so that his long hair fell forward over the damaged side of his face. He probably wasn’t even aware that he did that unconscious gesture of hiding. It touched her, but if he were hers, she’d make him stop flinching away from her and make him stand up tall and proud.

  “You don’t mind?” he whispered softly.

  She knew very well what he meant, but decided to deliberately pretend otherwise. “I don’t mind Uncle Gordon at all. He’s been nicer to me than most of my family.” True statement, though she didn’t have much family to speak of. Only a deadbeat father who’d run off and left her mother to scrimp and starve with a baby on the way.