Love Contract (Bride of the Billionaire)

I get a feeling like I’ve been punched in the chest, and I realize that what I thought was going to be just a stupid game, an arrangement to save my ass and my future, may have just turned into something incredibly real – something that could last.

“One million dollars,” I repeat. “I’ll have a contract drawn up and we go get married right now.”

“I—”

“I need an answer now,” I tell her.

“Or what? You’ll find someone else?”

“No.” I shake my head. “There is no one else. Marry me. Now.”

Her eyes flicker. She’s unsure. She should be. I feel her getting warmer in my hand.

“You…you don’t even know my name.”

“So tell me,” I reply.

She hesitates. I’m right on the edge. My cock is throbbing, and my heart is pounding. The name she says next will be the name of my wife, and not just for the next few days either.

“D—Daisy…”

Daisy.

I smile, and just for the effect, get down on one knee in front of her.

“Daisy,” I say gently, holding her hand in mine. “Will you marry me, Daisy?”

Her mouth opens like she’s going to ask another question – I see her lips, plump and glistening, ready for mine, ready for my cock…

But she changes her mind, takes another moment, then speaks.

“Okay…”

3

Daisy

If I hated Winter Wellington before, I hate him ten times more now.

Somehow, this rich, impossibly good-looking asshole just got me to agree to marry him.

But it’s only for money! That’s what I remind myself as he gets to his feet and smiles down at me like I’m now his property.

“Great,” he grins. “Now, let’s get you—”

“Whoa, wait a second,” I say quickly before he can pull me into the house. “We have to lay out some ground rules here first.”

“Ground rules?”

“First of all, this is an arrangement,” I say firmly. “Don’t forget that. Second of all, there is no sex. None. Zippo. Zero. Got it?”

“Got it,” Winter replies. But the look on his face doesn’t make me think he does.

“No sex,” I repeat. “No bjs, h-js, no quickies or just-the-tips. None of that. Okay?”

“Daisy,” he says slowly. “Who are you trying to convince here? Me or you?”

His face is maddeningly sexy, and the way he’s looking at me makes me want to melt into my shoes. As far as I can remember, he’s in his early thirties, which makes him at least eleven years older than my nineteen-year-old self. His eyes are strong, unmoving, and fixed on me. He holds the silence uncomfortably long, but I don’t falter. If I give in now, I’ll give in later, and that can’t happen.