His Virgin Bride Read online

  He looks me up and down again and I can't help noticing that his gaze lingers on my cleavage longer than it should. Then he checks his watch. "Damn. Late for a meeting. Got to go."

  "Are you sure about the sandwich?"

  He glances at the limp, smashed bag still dangling from my hand. "Tell you what," he says, "My name is Luke. You see me around here again, I'll let you buy me one."

  "Okay," I say. I'm kind of bummed out that he didn't give me his number, and I almost think about asking for his, but I choke at the last minute. "Well… deal."

  Embarrassed, I turn and watch my feet pound the pavement as I walk away from Luke, the handsome mystery man who just saved me.

  I wonder if I'll see him again.

  2

  Luke

  Wealth. Power. Women. Influence.

  And control… Mostly control.

  Those are the things my life revolves around. I'm the billionaire CEO of Diamond House Publishing, the biggest book publishing company in the world. From textbooks to cookbooks to mystery crime novels and romances, if it's a bestseller, it's most likely published by me.

  Sometimes, on afternoons like this, I like to come up to my 130th floor penthouse office to kick back in my custom alligator skin chair and take in the view of Manhattan in complete silence.

  Down here in the heart of the Financial District, I can observe the entire city. New York City is the capital of the world. And I'm on top of it all.

  I should feel like I have the world at my fingertips.

  The only problem is, I don't. Instead, I feel like I have nothing and no one who matters.

  Today I'm 39 years old. On the way up, throughout my 20s and 30s, I always thought that life would be perfect at the top. I'd have everything I could dream of, and all the friends and women that I could handle.

  I never paid attention to the people who warned me that it's lonely at the top.

  But I should have. Because it is.

  I pull a liquor glass and bottle of scotch out of my desk drawer, pour myself a drink, and swivel my chair back around to face the twenty foot, panoramic glass windows.

  Today, though, there's something else on my mind.

  The girl from the street.

  Even though I can afford to eat at the best restaurants in New York for every single meal, sometimes I like to go to Jacob's Deli for lunch to get a high-piled pastrami sandwich and a jumbo dill pickle. It lets me feel normal again, if only for an hour or two.

  But her… I never expected to meet someone like her.

  Every bone in my body burst with need, every muscle burned with desire when I saw her.

  I've had women. More than I can count. And when I want a new one, she's only minutes away. A text message, a phone call, or even a trip down to a hotel bar. They swarm to me everywhere I go.

  But she was the most beautiful one of all. And for some stupid reason I can't explain, I choked and left without getting her name or number.

  I can't remember the last time a woman had that effect on me.

  My intercom buzzes, interrupting my train of thought. I put down a swig of scotch and swivel back to my desk. I press the talk button. "Go ahead."

  "Mr. Steele, your three-'o-clock is here."

  I tip my neck, stretching my muscles for a moment before I respond. "Send him in." I down the rest of my scotch, then put the glass back in my desk drawer and slam it shut.

  A knock sounds on the other side of my office door, and I get up to answer it.

  "Rick," I say, mustering a jovial grin as the large, silver-haired man steps into my office. "How's the wife and kids?"

  Rick grins back, taking my hand to shake it. I maintain eye contact and my jovial smile, but I squeeze hard. Fucking hard, until I see the veins in his neck start to stand out. He answers my question, but I don't pay any attention to what he says.

  He's a Vice President here at Diamond House. Rick is a good man, but he's ambitious. Too ambitious. He's the kind of guy who needs to be regularly reminded of where his place is. If he doesn't get reminded, he takes it as a sign of weakness, and then he'll try to take your job from you.

  He's done it to many other executives during his time at the company. But I understand how he operates, and I know how to deal with him. Rick isn't what I'm worried about.

  The topic of our meeting today, though… that's what I'm worried about.

  "Sit down," I say, releasing his hand. I swing around the desk, and he sits in one of my guest chairs. He looks at me like he expects me to sit too, but I don't. It's just another political power play from my toolbox. I know how to play the game better than he does.

  He looks uncomfortable.

  I look down at him. "Update me on where we stand with this merger."

  He goes off a million miles an hour, updating me on the latest. My company, Diamond House, is merging with the second-biggest publishing company in the United States, McMaster, in just about six weeks.

  The boards of directors of the two companies are going to merge into one, and they're going to select just one man to become the CEO of the new mega-publishing corporation.

  It'll either be me, or my rival—the head of McMaster Publishing—Rex LaPrise. Even though my company is bigger than his, this decision is out of my hands. It's up to the board of directors, because they represent the shareholders.

  Whoever doesn't get picked to be the new CEO is going to be shoved off to some glorified corner office position, never to accomplish anything meaningful again.

  I'm dead set on making sure that's not me. I want, no need, to be in charge of this new company. Work is the only thing that keeps me sane these days. If I don't have my work, then I'll truly have nothing at all.

  I listen as Rick chatters, but I cut him off. "Get to the point," I say. "Any news from LaPrise?"

  Rick stumbles over his words, not used to being bossed around by someone bigger and badder than he is. He has a tough exterior, but on the inside, he's just warm and gooey, like the chocolatey desserts he likes to stuff his face with.

  "Yes, Rex LaPrise has requested a private meeting with us, the fifteenth of next month." The veins in Rick's neck pop out again. "I hate that asshole."

  I fucking hate him, too. The bastard plays dirty.

  I pause for a moment before speaking. "Rick, what do you mean, 'with us?'" I ask.

  "With you and me."

  I think for a moment. "The meeting will be with just me and LaPrise. Your presence won't be required."

  "But—"

  "That's final."

  "I just think—"

  "Rick. Don't question me again."

  Rick looks annoyed, but he knows better than to talk back to me. We wrap up the rest of our meeting, and I eventually send him away with a list of tasks to do for me. Busy work, to keep him occupied and to prevent him from stirring up any trouble for the rest of the week.

  Once he's gone from my office, I smirk to myself. Yeah, maybe this job doesn't give me everything I want out of life, but it still feels fucking good to be the top dog. And I fucking am the top dog.

  I look at my Rolex and it's half-past four. I don't make a habit of leaving work early, but the meeting with Rick was the last thing on my calendar for today, and I need to get some fresh fucking air.

  I page my secretary over the intercom. "Have my car ready and waiting in five."

  "Yes, Mr. Steele," comes her reply.

  In my limo, I watch the busy streets of Manhattan rush hour streak by. I loosen my tie and rub my neck.

  I don't care for wearing suits every day, but I believe it's an important part of business culture. Being a little uncomfortable keeps everyone on their toes, and that's what I look for in my team. And I lead by example.

  So, one rule I have is: I never loosen my tie until the day is over. And neither does anyone else under my authority.

  My mind wanders back to the girl I saw earlier. I can't help wondering where she was headed this afternoon. And I can't help remembering how well her breasts
filled out her tank top, and how her black bra peeked out from under her shirt. And those legs, and those curves.

  I can't fucking believe I didn't get her name.

  My cock stiffens inside my pants, and I press it against my leg with my palm, trying to relieve some of the tension. Most men would go home to look up some Internet porn, find a girl who looked like her, and gratify themselves using a bunch of pixels on a computer screen.

  But not me. I don't get sexual release unless I'm in the presence of a woman. I believe that sexual energy is at the heart of everything that makes this world move, and I choose not to waste mine. I only expend it when I'm with a woman who has enough of her own energy to give back to me.

  And that girl… Damn, she has it.

  I pull out my iPhone to distract me from my hard cock. The less I try to think about the girl, the more I do. So, I flip through my emails, my stock portfolio, sports scores. Everything I can think of to get my mind off her.

  My limo pulls up to a stoplight in midtown. Traffic is bad, but it won't be long until we get to my apartment. It overlooks Central Park and has one of the best views in the city.

  I see something familiar out the window, and for some reason it catches my eye. I press a button to page my driver, Earl, and he rolls down the glass partition between the driver and passenger cabins.

  "Yes, Mr. Steele?"

  "Pull up a few feet."

  "We're almost in the intersection already sir, and—"

  "I said, pull up."

  "Yes, sir."

  I roll down my window as the limo moves forward. Horns blare in the intersection as my driver blocks traffic. But I don't give a damn. Because I don't believe my eyes.

  It's her.

  "Hey you," I call out the window. She stands up straight. I have a distinctive voice and I know it. I'm sure she recognizes it from earlier. Then she approaches my open window, bends down, and I see her face. I feel my mouth go dry.

  "It's you," she exclaims in surprise. "Did you… follow me here?"

  Horns blare in the intersection, and I see a taxi cab lurch out, trying to creep around my intruding limousine.

  "No time to talk," I say, pointing toward the traffic jam my vehicle is causing in the intersection. "Get in."

  "But I have a place to—"

  "Get in," I say again, summoning the same authoritative voice I used with Rick back in my office. It's my 'get shit done' voice that I use when I want people to obey me. And it rarely fails to work.

  I open the door and slide over to make room. She tosses her bag onto the seat next to me, then ducks down into the limo, pulling the door closed. I hit the power locks and they click closed. We start to move again.

  "You just held up rush hour traffic for a whole light cycle," she says, exasperated. She looks sweaty, like she was walking somewhere fast. Her hair is tangled, falling down over her face, and I have to restrain myself from brushing it away. She's damn beautiful. Even more so than I remembered from earlier.

  "Does it look like I care?"

  She frowns. "So you're willing to inconvenience everyone else for your own benefit."

  "No," I say. "I'm willing to inconvenience everyone else to get your name, though."

  She blushes, pink and deep, and she looks hot as hell. I rack my brain trying to remember the last time a girl did this to me, but I can't. She's driving all my hormones crazy, like the kind of crushes I used to get on high school girls when I was sixteen.

  "Well," she stammers, "that won't be necessary in the future."

  "So you'll give me your name?"

  She pauses for a second. But then she extends her hand, and I take it. "Leah," she says. "Leah Price." I have to focus hard just to hear the words coming out of her mouth, because her touch is like a bolt of lightning that electrifies my entire body.

  "Pleasure to meet you, Leah Price," I reply. "My full name is Luke Steele."

  She looks around the interior of the limousine. "I didn't realize you were, uh,"

  "It's okay," I say. "You can say it."

  "…Rich," she finishes. I grin.

  I look her up and down. Her curves are fucking delicious. If she was any other woman, I could strip her right here and now and she wouldn't object. But with her, I can somehow tell that it wouldn't fly. She's not an average girl. She's worth more than that.

  It's fine, though, because for some crazy reason, I'm more interested in getting to know who she is, first. I have a feeling it'll only make it that much better when I finally get all her clothes off.

  "What are you doing tonight?" I say.

  "I was just about to go to—"

  "You know what? Don't answer that. Your plans are cancelled."

  She looks incredulous. "Is that right?"

  "Yes. You're coming to dinner with me."

  "But I—"

  I cock my head and look at her, my face serious. "Is there really something else that's more important?"

  "Well… no."

  "Then say no more."

  "Driver," I call out. "Call Dorsia. Tell them we'll arrive within the next fifteen minutes. Rooftop seating."

  "Yes, sir," says my driver Earl, with a detectable chuckle in his voice. "Privacy, sir?"

  "Please," I say.

  The glass partition rolls back up.

  3

  Leah

  Progressive fusion jazz plays in the background of the restaurant, which bustles with activity. It's sleek, modern, and my jaw nearly drops when I recognize some of the faces dining here tonight.

  A New York state senator, Dave Matthews, Kurt Russell, and more beautiful, young, rich, European-looking couples than I can count.

  I feel extremely self-conscious and out of place, wearing my tank top and short shorts here among all these sophisticated people dressed to the nines. But the hostess immediately recognizes Luke and gives us both a warm smile.

  I guess having money and knowing the right people buys you all the social currency you need, and the utmost discretion… even if you look like total dog doo-doo.

  To my great relief, they don't seat us in the main dining room where I'd stick out like a sore thumb.

  "Mr. Steele," says the beautiful, skinny hostess, "Right this way to the rooftop penthouse dining room." We follow after her, and I feel jealous of the way her tiny, shapely butt moves underneath her pencil skirt. Luke is probably taking in an eyeful of her right now.

  She takes us around the corner into a private elevator, and hits the "100" button. The elevator soars upward, and when it opens, I can't believe my eyes.

  The rooftop is a huge circular room with continuous, panoramic 360-degree windows. I've never seen such a breathtaking view of the city before. Even being on the top of the Empire State Building doesn't compare to the private luxurious feeling of this.

  In the middle of the room stands a single table covered in what looks like a silk tablecloth, with a bottle of wine sitting next to a vase. A single, ruby-red rose pokes out of it.

  The scene literally takes my breath away.

  "Luke, I… This isn't necessary," I manage to squeak out.

  "Enough," he says, placing his hand on the small of my back and gently guiding me toward the table. "This is one of my usual weekday dining spots."

  "Dorsia," I mumble, taking a seat at the table. "No one can get a reservation at Dorsia."

  "So I'm a no one, then?" says Luke with a smirk. He shoots me a smile from across the table and goosebumps break out all over my thighs. His teeth are impossibly pearly white and straight, and his five-o'-clock shadow is coming in.

  When I ran into him earlier today, he was completely clean shaven. Now, he looks rugged and tough. I can't help wondering what it would feel like for the stubble on those dark, sharp cheekbones to drag along my thigh.

  I blush. "That's not what I meant at all."

  "Relax," he says with a smile. "I know what you meant."

  A sharp-dressed waiter wearing a tux appears and saves me from the moment of awkwardness. "Wine t
onight, sir and miss?"

  "Yes," says Luke. "This is your recommendation for tonight?" He gestures toward the bottle in the center of the table.

  "Yes, sir. This is a 1939 floral Pinot Gris that pairs well with the special tonight, sea urchin and Chilean bass ceviche."

  Luke nods. "Pour it."

  "That will be twelve, sir."

  My eyes widen when I realize the waiter doesn't mean $12 or even $1200. He means twelve-thousand dollars. He withdraws a corkscrew from an apron pocket, effortlessly pops the cork, and pours us each a glass.

  "The special tonight, sir?"

  Luke gazes into my eyes, his stare piercing into my soul. "You like fish?" he asks.

  "Y-yes," I stammer. "Whatever you want."

  He smiles. "Not whatever I want. Tonight is about you. You can have whatever you like tonight."

  "Well, I do like fish."

  "Excellent," he says, nodding at the waiter. "Tonight's special for both of us."

  The waiter leaves us alone at the table.

  I lean in and lower my voice to a whisper. "I can't believe I'm wearing this, at a restaurant like this."

  Luke stitches his eyebrows together. "Explain."

  "I mean, just look at me," I say, leaning back and gesturing toward my tank top. My bare, sweaty thighs feel sticky against the rich leather of the chair, and I feel like I'm contaminating it.

  "You look incredible just the way you are."

  "I would have changed into something better if I had the chance."

  "If I wanted you to change, you would have changed. I wanted you to come exactly like that," says Luke, smiling at me.

  My cheeks burn red. "And do you always get what you want?"

  "Usually, yes." He speaks in such an even, controlled tone. It's almost maddening. "Especially in relation to women… coming." He smirks gently.

  "I don't know what you mean." I swallow hard, and I feel a tingle between my legs. It's been so long since a man had this effect on me. My breath quickens.