Page 10 of The Billionaire's Bargain

"Yes." One word. That's all I trust myself to say right now. Something about the way the morning light hits her face makes my chest ache. I've never wanted anyone the way I want her. It's a physical pain, a constant throb that's settled in my bones sincethe first time I saw her nervously carrying a tray at that rundown café.

The car stops at the front entrance. My driver opens Alice's door before I can come around, and I stifle the irrational surge of jealousy when she smiles politely at him.Mine.The word pulses through me with each heartbeat. Soon, she'll understand that.Soon.

"I don't belong here," she murmurs as we step into the foyer, her worn sneakers silent against the marble floor. The chandelier above us catches in her hair, turning the strands to liquid gold.

"You belong exactly where I want you to be," I say, and immediately regret the harshness in my voice when she flinches. Softer, I add, "And I want you to be comfortable. Let me show you around."

She follows me through the house, a step behind, like she's afraid to get too close. Smart girl. If she comes any closer, I might forget all my careful plans. Her wide eyes take in the artwork, the vaulted ceilings, the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean. I've never looked at my home through someone else's eyes before. Never cared to. But now I find myself watching her reactions, hungry for every small gasp, every widened glance.

"This place must have a hundred rooms," she says, her voice barely audible.

"Twenty-two," I correct her, fighting a smile. "And only one matters today."

Her face pales. Fuck. Wrong thing to say.

"The spa," I clarify quickly. "I've arranged for you to be pampered today. Starting with a massage."

Relief visibly washes over her. "Mr. Grant?—"

"Alexander," I interrupt. "Please." I need my first name in her mouth. Need to hear how it sounds shaped by her lips.

"Alexander," she corrects, and my cock stirs at the sound. "You don't have to do all this.”

I step closer, unable to help myself. She smells like vanilla and coffee and something uniquely her. "I want you to relax. To understand what your life could be like."

With me. Forever.But I don't say that part out loud. Not yet.

I lead her to the spa wing of the house, where Martine, my most trusted massage therapist, is waiting. I'd been explicit on the phone. Female only. No male staff anywhere near Alice today. No way in hell I’m letting another man put his hands on her—not even a professional massuese.

"This is Alice," I tell Martine. "Take exceptional care of her."

Alice looks between us, her cheeks flushing. "I've never had a professional massage before."

The confession sends a dart of possessiveness through me. Another first I get to give her. I've made a list of them in my head. All the experiences I want to be the first—theonly—man to share with her.

"I'll leave you in Martine's capable hands," I say, forcing myself to step back. "I'll see you in ninety minutes."

I walk out before I can change my mind. Before I can stay and watch. The thought of anyone touching her—even Martine—makes my jaw clench. I retreat to my office, trying to focus on work, but my mind keeps drifting to the woman currently being rubbed down two floors below. What sounds is she making? Are her eyes closed? Is she thinking of me?

Ninety-seven minutes later—not that I'm counting—there's a knock at my office door.

"Mr. Grant? The stylist has arrived."

I straighten papers I haven't actually been reading. "Send her up. And bring Ms. Clark to the dressing room."

The dressing room is actually an entire suite, a converted bedroom with three walls of closets, a raised platformsurrounded by mirrors, and enough space to host a small fashion show. I've had it prepared with racks of clothing in Alice's size—information I obtained weeks ago, planning for this day.

When she walks in, her hair is damp at the edges, her skin flushed from the massage. She looks softer somehow, the tension drained from her shoulders. Something fierce and tender unfurls in my chest at the sight.

"Feel better?" I ask, my voice rougher than intended.

She nods, offering a small smile that hits me like a physical blow. "Thank you. That was...incredible."

"Good." I gesture to the clothes. "This is Vivienne. She's brought some options for you to try."

Alice's eyes widen as they take in the racks of designer clothing. "I can't accept all this."

"You can. You will." I step closer, unable to help myself. "Please, Alice. Let me do this for you."

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