How to Seduce a Billionaire Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Also by Portia Da Costa

  Title Page

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Sneak Preview of The Accidental Call Girl

  Copyright

  About the Book

  The virgin and the billionaire...

  Just because Jess Lockhart is a virgin in her late twenties doesn’t mean she isn’t interested in men. In fact, far from it: she fantasises about finding the perfect man who can fulfil her every desire.

  Her new boss, handsome billionaire Ellis McKenna, seems perfect for the job. It is clear he is as attracted to her as she is to him. However, a tragic past has left Ellis vowing to never do ‘serious’ relationships again. Having allowed herself to be seduced by a billionaire can Jess teach him about love?

  If you like Fifty Shades of Grey you’ll love this!

  About the Author

  Portia Da Costa is one of the most internationally renowned authors of erotic romance and erotica, and a Sunday Times, New York Times and USA Today bestseller.

  She is the author of seventeen Black Lace novels, as well as numerous short stories and novellas.

  Also by Portia Da Costa

  The Accidental Series:

  The Accidental Call Girl

  The Accidental Mistress

  The Accidental Bride

  Novels:

  Shadowplay

  The Tutor

  Entertaining Mr Stone

  Continuum

  The Devil Inside

  Hotbed

  Suite Seventeen

  Gemini Heat

  Gothic Blue

  Gothic Heat

  The Stranger

  In Too Deep

  The Gift

  Short Stories:

  The Red Collection

  Prologue

  He was tall, dark and handsome. Always tall, dark and handsome. A romantic cliché, but who was she to argue with her subconscious?

  Dream Lover didn’t speak as he climbed into bed with her. He rarely did speak. Her fantasies were visual, not auditory and her own sighs and moans were all the soundtrack that she needed.

  Falling back against the pillows, she let her imagined lover take the lead. His smile was enigmatic as he loomed over her, a subtle play of light and shade, but his eyes were vivid and dark with desire. Aquamarine and too brilliant to be natural, they almost dazzled her as he moved in close to kiss her. His lips were mobile and velvety, and the contact compelled her mouth to yield, his tongue demanding entrance, and thrusting fiercely.

  Oh yeah!

  Fantasy hands settled on her body, the contact firm but not rough as he explored her. He cupped her breast, squeezing lightly, thumb flicking back and forth, driving her crazy even though he’d barely begun his magic. She squirmed, every bit of her coming to life. Especially certain bits … The touch of his fingertips was smooth and warm, sliding easily against her skin. It felt lovely and made her wriggle even more … until an intrusive memory popped unwelcome into her mind.

  A nearly-man, someone she’d once dated and hoped for great things with, he’d had callouses on his fingertips when he’d touched her. They’d felt horribly rough against her skin when he’d tried to sneak his hand up her blouse, and it’d destroyed every chance she might have had of getting turned on.

  I’m my own worst enemy. Everything has to be perfect when in real life it probably never is.

  As she banished the thought with a furious shake of her head, her hair lashed against the pillow as if she were already in the throes of orgasm. Still without speaking her phantasm-man soothed her, gentled her. His touch both calmed her down and shook her up at the same time, and he stroked her breasts, one then the other, alternating, knowing just when to switch. Then, kissing harder, he drifted that enchanted arousing hand further down, cupping her crotch in a light grip that employed a pinpoint degree of assertion and confidence. Her legs lolled apart of their own accord, making room for his exploration. Seducing him …

  Of course, it went right. Why wouldn’t it? It was all idealised. Questing, he parted the hair of her pussy with those perfect fingertips, dipping in to touch her clit. She gasped, always astonished to be so wet at these times. Lost in her fantasy though, it was easy to get slippery and silky, effortlessly easy.

  She cried out, her own voice sounded shockingly loud. Usually she was able to keep the noise down in a shared house, barely articulating any more than wordless Dream Lover did. For a moment, she worried that her house-mate Cathy would hear her, but then told herself not to fret. She’d never heard any sounds of erotic partying from Cathy’s room, and her housemate led a happy, uninhibited sex life with a real, live lover. Cathy was normal, and shared good times with her steady man.

  She’s younger than me too.

  No! Another intrusive thought … It was a weird night tonight. Somehow she was more turned on than usual, and yet at the same time less able to concentrate on making Dream Lover real.

  What had got into her? Had she lost it completely, from all this incessant brooding on … her situation?

  Closing her eyes tight, she focused on the dream man who was making love to her. He was passionate and beautiful, and though she still saw no exact likeness of him, he was somehow clearer. She didn’t force the issue though. She had other priorities. Something else she needed to keep from slipping away … Sensations that could be as fugitive as they were precious and exquisite.

  Stroking, stroking, stroking. The pressure, the pattern just right. No man would ever match her own fingers. No man would ever map her own body as she did.

  No man had ever even had a chance to try, because no man was perfect.

  Stop it! Don’t go there. Focus, idiot!

  Slipping, circling, swirling, Dream Lover banished her conundrum. His touch and the way it journeyed over the folds and dips and hotspots of her sex was matchless; dominant without being domineering, powerful without being rough. The gathering pleasure made her rock her hips, jerk and thrust against the contact. But Dream Lover was Dream Lover and he didn’t miss a beat.

  Gasping, she rose to him again, imagination finally taking over, the fantasy and the sensations becoming one. As if sure of her readiness, the man she’d conjured up moved over her, gracefully settling between her legs, his idealised cock pressing for admittance against the entrance of her sex.

  The unknown country.

  But it felt right. It felt wonderful. Hot. Solid. An iron-stiff rod pushing inside her, yet living and sensitive. Driving, thrusting, possessing, the rhythm divine and metronomic. The way he knocked against her clit with each plunge triggering pleasure that bloomed like fireworks, streaming up into the heavens and taking her with them.

  Her teeth clamped hard together, keeping in her shouts, but inside she cried, Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!

  Whoever you are …

  Afterwards, she lay still and gasping. Wrung out like a dishrag, sweaty and dishevelled.

  This was ge
tting ridiculous.

  You need to get a real man, you bloody fool. You need to find out what it’s really like. Nobody but a nun is still a virgin at twenty-nine nowadays, regardless of whatever life ‘stuff’ happens to them.

  Holding out any longer for some crazy ideal of a perfect man was stupid. There were no perfect men, and if she kept holding out for one, she’d find herself holding out forever, and end up as a dried up spinster with only her sketching and good works or whatever to keep her occupied. She’d bet good money that any normal woman would be prepared to sleep with more than a frog or two in the hopes that one of them might turn out to be moderately princely.

  Waiting for desire was daft. The years were flying by. She had to go half way, and take a risk; work to feel passion. Just sitting around expecting lust to suddenly arrive, kaboom, was pathetic.

  Next time a nice man with potential crossed her path, she had to give him a chance, and not keep turning away because he wasn’t Dream Lover.

  As long as he’s just a little bit tall and dark and handsome …

  Shaking her head, she sat up and smoothed down her nightgown.

  Time to draw …

  1

  ‘Oh no! Why today? Why do you have to do this to me?’

  Jess Lockhart stared up into the pouring rain and almost shook her fist. She would have done it if there hadn’t been cars whizzing by, driven by people who’d think she was a loony; cars that flung up sheets of muddy spray that soaked her shoes and legs as they passed.

  Why had this happened just when she wanted to look her best at work? She didn’t normally dress up. Smart casual, in fact very casual, was her usual look. But today she wanted to appear a bit more polished, just in case, because of the mighty, exalted VIP who was visiting.

  Not that the new owner of the insurance group she worked for was likely to descend from on high to tour the cubicle farm. Why would he? He was a businessman, a tycoon, a financier. He wasn’t interested in what the lowly drones at the coalface were doing, just the monetary assets that Windsor Insurance, his new acquisition, represented.

  ‘Why does nobody I know ever drive past?’ Jess growled at no car in particular.

  This was the busiest part of the city and not everybody was going in the same direction, but surely somebody else was heading for Windsor Insurance? But most likely they wouldn’t even recognise such a rain-soaked and bedraggled mutt as their work colleague.

  Now, if she’d got up in good time, she could’ve checked the weather forecast and known that sharp, heavy showers were on the way. But no, she’d been awake half the night, stupidly fantasising about Dream Lover, and then equally stupidly trying to capture his image on paper. Consequently, when it was time to get up, she’d slept in, woolly-headed and weary. If she’d woken up at her normal hour, she could have begged a lift from Cathy, but she’d left it too late. Cathy was an angel, and she’d offered to wait … but that would have made her late for work too.

  Now you’re paying the price for your midnight shenanigans, dimbo, and as you didn’t even have the foresight to bring an umbrella, you’re going to get soaked to the skin between the bus station and work. Brilliant!

  Blinking water out of her eyes, Jess realised that the hair that had begun as a chic and elegant up-do was fast collapsing, its structure undermined by the teeming deluge. With a muttered oath, she pulled out the securing clip, and slung it aside in disgust, to run her fingers through the thick straggles of her sodden hair.

  So much for ‘maple syrup’ low-lights and a twenty-quid conditioning mask.

  Just about to retrieve the clip, she darted back from the kerb’s edge. Despite the double yellow lines and ‘No Stopping’ signs, a vehicle actually was pulling up beside her now, its slowing speed only splattering her with a light swish of rainwater this time. Her hairclip was crushed to shards beneath the wheel of a distinctive, retro looking powder blue car. A long, low, classic Citroën. An uncle of hers had driven one once upon a time, and she’d always loved riding in it, because of the way its suspension made you feel as if you were floating on air. Happy, innocent days those had been, when she and her sister had accompanied her uncle’s family on sketching holidays to Cornwall.

  But what was a vintage ‘blue whale’ like Uncle Mark’s doing here in this neck of the woods, jostling amongst the school run SUVs and the hot hatches and the occasional luxury saloon or hybrid?

  Looks like I’m going to find out.

  A figure within the blue car leant across the passenger seat and rolled down the window.

  ‘Can I give you a lift somewhere?’ said a deep, musical voice, easy on the ear, but very ‘not from round here’. The accent was hard to pin down though – basically British, but with bits of other things – especially amongst the drumming rain and the honking car horns.

  Jess blinked again. And not just from the water running into her eyes. It was like a double recognition. Really weird, making her feel weird too, as if she’d been whirled around several times, far too fast.

  No, surely not … Surely it’s not him … or him!

  The man in the car was the spitting image of the pictures she’d seen of today’s VIP visitor … and he could also have been Dream Lover at a pinch.

  The familiar but unfamiliar man grinned, his face lighting up in a sunny, happy, amused expression, glowing somehow, almost dazzling. Eyes that were a bluish green – bluer than his car, but not as green as the actual green of leaves or grass – almost seemed to twinkle at her.

  Dear God, it is him! It’s the VIP! The new big boss of all bosses!

  ‘Lift?’ he prompted, making Jess realise that she must look a complete fool, standing there, wet and bedraggled, with her mouth hanging open, and was probably compounding that impression with every second that passed. Yet still she stood there, and time seemed frozen, apart from the ominous approach of an incoming traffic warden, heading along the street.

  But what was this handsome devil, this mighty captain of business, doing cruising along, driving himself in an obviously ancient car when he should be riding in a limousine with a brace of PAs and a chauffeur to look after him? And the VIP’s clothing didn’t fit the surroundings either. He looked as if he was on his holidays. His suit was light-coloured, fawnish linen, stylish but slightly crumpled, and he wore his flower-patterned cheesecloth shirt with the tails out.

  It’s definitely him though. Handsome as the devil, but nothing like your everyday average billionaire tycoon. Definitely eccentric.

  ‘Thanks, but it’s all right. I’m nearly there. I wouldn’t want to trouble you, and I’ll get rain on the upholstery of your car. Thanks …’

  He laughed softly, cheerful and clearly entertained by her absurdity.

  ‘Sod my upholstery, it’ll survive.’ He quirked his dark brows at her, and his smile was oddly entreating. ‘Please won’t you get in? You’re getting drenched, and I’ll never forgive myself if you end up catching a cold or flu when I could’ve prevented it. I’m not a pervert or a kidnapper, honestly.’ He glanced quickly up the street at the approaching warden. ‘I think I’m going to get a ticket any second if we don’t move on.’

  ‘Okay then. Thanks.’

  Jess slithered into the passenger seat, embarrassingly aware of the slim skirt of her one good suit riding up her thighs. Her tights felt horribly slimy on her wet legs, but she’d wanted to look ‘well put together’ today and groomed, so she’d worn a pair. Normally she relied on a spot of fake tan.

  ‘Where to?’ The VIP arched his eyebrows at her again. And what eyebrows they were! Dark and very firmly marked, they were a perfect match for the near-black brown of his slightly tousled hair and the sexy roguish stubble of his semi-beard.

  I don’t think Dream Lover has ever had a beard.

  ‘Um … Windsor Insurance. It’s about two monoliths down, on the left. You can’t miss it. There’s this silly picture of a castle on the logo.’

  And it’s your latest acquisition, Mr Beach Bum Billionaire, I think you’ll f
ind.

  ‘A silly castle, eh?’ he observed, setting the car in gear, eyes on the traffic, yet still making her feel as if he was scrutinising her intensely. ‘And what are you then, the lost princess?’

  ‘Nope, just a serf. A minion. A lowly member of one of the claims teams.’

  ‘Oh, not so lowly. Not from where I’m sitting.’ Before Jess could even form a response to that, he gestured towards their destination, which now hove into view on the left. She hadn’t noticed but he was driving quite fast in the wet and had navigated his way neatly through the hurly-burly of the morning rush hour. ‘That it?’

  Was he even going to mention who he was? Maybe not. Maybe he wasn’t going to bother inspecting the troops, after all, and was just going to hang out with higher management echelons?

  ‘Yes … Yes, thanks. You could drop me just here. That’s the staff entrance.’ She nodded to where some of her work colleagues, most of them considerably dryer than she was, were filing through the double doors.

  As she put her hand on the car door handle, he stayed her, his fingers on her arm. It was the lightest contact, but she almost rocked in her seat, imagining the same lightness of touch in another context. A night-time context, slight and gentle, but the beginning of more, so much more.

  Jess! What the hell … What …

  Incredibly, her body roused. It was so sudden and so incongruous that she almost swayed in the seat.

  Why now? In these circumstances? In the rain, with a man she’d met seconds ago, and would probably never meet again, other than perhaps a nod of acknowledgement as he swept through the claims department on some kind of royal progress.

  And yet, it’d happened, shaking her in a way that had always seemed like some magic unknown, a state fantasised about and achieved in solitude, but never experienced out here, in the real world. How could one fleeting touch from this displaced beach bum catch her unawares and take her effortlessly to the domain of Dream Lover?

  Staring at him, she could almost see her every thought mirrored in those tropical ocean eyes. As if he knew her. Totally. Understood her lack of experience, and comprehended that she didn’t want to lack experience, but simply didn’t want to throw away something precious in a meaningless act with someone she didn’t quite care enough about.