Page 27 of Marrying the Billionaire

Archer

Agentle knock at my home office door has me startling, and I automatically straighten, unaware I was even hunched over my desk. I glance down at the bottom corner of my laptop, discovering it’s nine-thirty. Where did the time go?

“Come in.” I rub the tiredness from my eyes, then have to rub them again to make sure I’m seeing right as Serena walks in holding a glass of amber liquid. It’s not the drink I’m focused on, though, so much as what she’s wearing. A black silk robe encases her arms and torso, ending so high on her thighs, it’s a wonder it covers anything at all. What brought on this sudden change in sleepwear? Wait, have I even seen her in pajamas yet?

She turns around to close the door, her hem riding higher for just a moment as she spins, and I quickly avert my gaze north before she faces me again, and exit out of the expense reports up on my screen. “What brings you by?”

“You’ve been working so late, I thought you could use a drink. Something to relax.”

Her blonde hair is loose around her shoulders, emphasizing the open neckline of her robe, a hint of lace peeking out from her cleavage.

She doesn’t normally wear clothing so suggestive, does she? Have I just not been paying attention?

“It’s Scotch on the rocks. Lori said it’s your favorite.”

“Thanks,” I murmur as she leans across my desk to hand it to me, her robe gaping open briefly to reveal a set of perfect breasts encased in black lace. I accept it from her, unable to look away. All that creamy, kissable, lickable skin right there… I shake my head and take a sip of the Scotch, the burn of alcohol clearing my half-baked thoughts.

She leans back, no hint on her face that I was just staring at her chest, and takes a seat on the edge of my desk, the robe riding high once more to showcase more smooth skin. Is she wearing panties underneath? Black lace to match her bra? Or if I parted that robe, would I find her bare for me?

Whoa, where the hell is this coming from? I must be hard up. It’s been… God, I don’t even know how long.

I take another swallow and thank her again, then realize I already did that.

“It’s the least I could do. You work so hard all the time. Every night this week you’ve come in here and continued to work.”

That’s because I’m making up for lost time attending these events that I normally would spend working.

“Here, let me help.”

She hops off the desk to walk behind my chair, settling her hands on my shoulders. She kneads at muscles I didn’t even realize were aching, and a groan slips out of me, her fingers magical as the tension dissipates. My initial instinct to tell her I’m fine and don’t need a massage drifts away as she works at my upper back next, the knots there releasing, a warmth spreading through me.

Has she done this professionally or something? Or am I just that tight?

After a few minutes, she runs her hands up the back of my neck, sending a wave of shivers through me. I lean forward to give her better access, her fingers massaging my scalp now.

“Fuck, that feels good,” I mutter, instantly regretting the curse. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to use that kind of language-”

“You can say fuck to me,” she says in her sweet voice, the juxtaposition between her innocence and the coarse word making it all the more arousing. “I don’t mind if you say that at all.”

Her fingers finish kneading, sifting through my hair now, a different sort of pleasure. No woman has ever touched me like this, but there’s no real reason to ask her to stop. If anything, she has more right than anyone. But this feels too intimate, like the start of something else. And she’s my wife in name only.

My desk phone rings, the display showing a business associate over on the West coast I’ve been expecting to hear from. “I have to take this,” I tell her. “It’s important,” I add, as if I need to justify why I’m answering a call in my own office.

“I understand,” she says softly, stepping back around to the front of the desk. “Goodnight.” She tiptoes out, those long, toned legs filling my vision as she closes the door behind her.

I stare at the closed door for a moment before the ringing phone catches my attention again. I rush to pick it up, almost toppling the base unit over in my haste. “Hello?” I answer breathlessly, flustered for some reason. I clear my throat and repeat myself in my normal voice. The one that conveys professionalism, authority. Not the one that teenaged me used the first time I saw a woman’s naked body in the flesh.

Not that I’ll be seeing her naked tonight, I remind myself. The whole encounter had just been… different. A welcome one my back muscles tell me, loose and pliant for a change. Maybe I should consider hiring a masseuse.

Or you could ask Serena to do it again tomorrow night.

No, no. That wouldn’t be right. She made a friendly offer tonight, but I don’t expect her to do anything like that in the future.

This relationship is in name only.

“Have you seen this?”

Angelina drops a printed online article in front of me, my reckoning finally due. “Tracy already showed it to me,” I sigh.

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