Page 26 of The Billionaire's Bargain

Alice's eyes widen. "For how long?"

"Six months." I smile without humor. "I was allowed books. Educational toys only, under supervision. My mother disagreed, but she never contradicted him to his face."

"That's horrible," she whispers, and the genuine outrage in her voice does something to my chest—creates a warm spot in a place I'd thought permanently frozen.

"It was effective. I never broke anything again."

Her hand reaches toward mine, then falters. I capture it before she can retreat, her skin soft against my calloused palm. Another contradiction—I've never worked manual labor, but I've spent hours in my private gym, punishing my body into submission just as my father taught me to punish my mind.

"Is that why you have all this?" she asks, gesturing with her free hand to the cavernous room with its museum-quality art and carefully curated furnishings.

I laugh, the sound breaking against the vaulted ceiling. "Perceptive. I built all this because I could, because it's what a Grant does. Then I realized I'd created my own fucking mausoleum."

Her fingers tighten around mine. It's instinctive comfort, not calculated. That's the thing about Alice—everything she does comes from a pure, uncontaminated place. It's why I noticed her in the first place, this waitress with tired eyes and a real smile,not the plastic ones I've collected from models and socialites over the years.

"Until I saw you," I continue, my thumb tracing circles on her palm. "Watching you move through that cramped space, smiling even when customers were assholes. Real smiles that reached your eyes."

"I wasn't smiling for you," she protests weakly.

"Exactly." My grip tightens. "Not for me, not for my money, not for my name. Just because that's who you are. Do you have any idea how rare that is in my world?"

The fire pops and hisses, casting dancing shadows across her face. She's close enough now that I can smell the subtle floral scent of the soap I had stocked in her bathroom, mingled with something uniquely her. Something I want to taste.

"I'm not special," she insists. "I'm just trying to take care of my family."

"Your mother's medical bills are paid." I state this as a fact, not a reminder of my generosity. "Your brother's college fund is secured. You don't need to worry about them anymore."

Her eyes flash. "I didn't ask you to do that."

"No. You would never ask." I shift closer, eliminating more of the distance between us. "That's what makes you different."

We're breathing the same air now. Her pupils dilate, her lips part. She's scared, but not of me. Of what's happening between us—this gravitational pull that defies explanation.

"I don't fit here," she whispers. "In this world."

"You're the only thing that belongs here." My hand slides up her arm, feeling goosebumps rise in its wake. "Everything else is just...decoration."

When I kiss her, it's gentle at first—a contrast to the violence of my wanting. Her lips are soft, hesitant, then suddenly hungry. She makes a small sound in the back of her throat that shootsstraight to my groin. I cup her face, angling her head to deepen the kiss, and she melts against me.

I trace her lower lip with my tongue, and she opens for me like she's been waiting for this her whole life. Maybe she has. Maybe we both have. Her inexperience is evident in the tentative way she responds, but there's nothing tentative about the way her body arches toward mine.

"Alexander," she breathes when we break apart, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Tell me you want this," I demand, my voice rough. "I need to hear it. Not that you’re just submitting because you think you have to. Becuase of our bargain. Fuck our bargain. I need to know thatyoureally want this, Alice."

Her eyes meet mine, clouded with desire but clear with decision. She hesitates for a moment before she nods. "I want this. I want you."

That's all I need to hear.. I gather her against me, lifting her onto my lap. The silk dress rides up her thighs, and I palm the soft skin revealed there. She shivers, pressing closer. Through the expensive fabric, I can feel the heat of her, the perfect weight of her body against my hardness.

I run my hand reverently over her.

"I'll take care of you," I promise, my hands roaming her body with more restraint than I knew I possessed. "I'll make it good for you."

I kiss her again, deeper, hungrier, swallowing her little gasps and moans. My hands find the zipper of her dress, slowly lowering it, giving her time to stop me. She doesn't. Instead, her fingers fumble with the buttons of my shirt, her touch burning through me.

The dress slips from her shoulders, revealing simple cotton underwear beneath—another jarring reminder of the worldsbetween us. I groan at the sight of her, soft curves and pale skin glowing in the firelight.

"Perfect," I murmur against her throat, trailing kisses down to her collarbone. "Fucking perfect."

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