Selling Out to the Billionaire

My shoulders relax. Teasing me with those insufferable windows is better than the cold silence. "Any special amenities you're a fan of?"

"A really great kitchen." I must look surprised, because he shrugs. "I like to cook."

That's not something I would have put on a list of suspected Derek Conway hobbies. Picturing him standing over a stove, an apron tied around his broad shoulders... well. My little fantasy goes from strange to erotic, because thinking of him naked under the apron is too easy. I shift in place.

The car makes a turn, and I notice we're pulling into the driveway of the house. It has a long drive with landscaped hedges in clean lines leading to a simple exterior. I know from the files that the inside of this house is far more impressive that the outside by design, and after hearing the things he wants in a home, I think this one will fit him well.

He gets out of the car first, taking in the house. I slip out behind him and check my notes on where the realtor key box is, and I'm walking towards the house when he calls out behind me. "Don't bother."

I turn. "What?" Seeing him stand there in front of the escalade and framed by the landscaping is like an ad. One that I'll file away to remember later when I'm not so freaking pissed.

"This isn't the one."

I can't resist arguing. "I promise the inside isn't nearly as extravagant if that's what you're worried about." This house is so opposite of the last one it's laughable. "I think the interior has a lot of the things you're looking for."

He appraises me for a long minute. "This isn't the house I'm going to buy. Do you want to continue to convince me to go inside or shall we move on to the next one?"

"If you give me a second, I think I could come up with a few more ways to get you inside.”

"I'm sure you could." A lazy smile appears on his face. "Maybe I'd press you against a wall this time. Would you like that?” He comes closer, his hand stroking my cheek and locking me in place. He whispers, “Do you want me to fuck you so badly, Miss Swanson?”

My mouth is too dry—I can't respond.

He sighs and says, “But as fun as that would be, I still wouldn't buy the house.” Releasing me he backs away. “Get in the car."

Blushing to my ears, I just stand there in frustration. Derek is the cockiest man on Earth and there's nothing I can do about it.

I grit my teeth as I climb back into the vehicle, pulling out my phone. Just like I was worried about... it's time to rearrange some things.

6

This whole day is a freaking nightmare. We just finished looking at our eleventh house of the day. That means he's seen eleven houses. Eleven. Every one of these houses has been gorgeous, and he's barely tolerated them.

Nothing I've been saying about the houses has gotten any kind of meaningful response, and he doesn't volunteer anything. The only thing I know is that I'm more confused about Derek than ever. I've caught him ogling me more than once today. I'd swear he's more in the market for me than he's in the market for a house. A couple of times, his eyes were so furiously hungry I thought...

Never mind. This isn't the time to focus on how dreamy or fuckable he is—because he is both. Right now I need to sell him a goddamn house.

Derek settles in his seat, typing on his phone as I give Andre the next address. This listing isn't far away. Thank goodness. Our rides have lapsed into barely civil silence as we've become more and more frustrated with each other. Or maybe it's just me, because Derek looks totally at ease. There's no tension anywhere in his body, every piece of him looking at home and relaxed. He glances up from his phone and I look away, trying and failing to fight off a blush. I don't look at him for the rest of the short ride.

I don't wait for him to get out of the car this time, instead making a beeline for the key box. He's going inside this one. It's a strategy that's been working so far. The only way I know how to sell him a house is if he actually makes it through the front door, so I'll use whatever tricks I have to.

As soon as I walk into the entryway my heart sinks. He's not going to like this. While it's beautiful, the way the house is styled for showing is going to turn him off. There are knickknacks and pictures stationed on shelves and tables, and the overall appearance is that it looks cluttered. I push through anyway, leaving him to follow me into the kitchen. "What do you think of this kitchen?" I ask him. "It's bigger than we've seen in some of the others."

"It's fine," he says.

I walk into the adjoining dining room, and he follows me. "You'd certainly be able to host a good party in here." As I turn to point out the beautiful trim decorating the walls, I startle. Derek is far closer than I thought he would be. There's a loud bang! As I back into a sideboard. I manage to look away from him and see that my collision knocked a candle onto the floor.

Sighing, I retrieve the candle and put it back. I glance back at Derek, mildly afraid to find him rolling his eyes at my clumsiness. Instead, I see him staring at my ass. That I just bent over and gave him the perfect view of. Oh my god.

I turn bright red as Derek meets my eyes. He doesn't look ashamed or surprised that I caught him. Instead, he gives me the first smile I've seen in hours followed by a wink. A wink. And then…

Derek is hard. His erection is clearly visible through his pants, looking even bigger than it felt. My tongue is electric, and I feel a sudden wetness in my pussy as my body remembers my fantasy last night and the dreams that followed. If I don't get out of here, I don't know what will happen.

He sees me looking at his cock and his grin gets bigger. "Ready for the next house?" I ask, my voice chirpy and fake.

"Lead the way," Derek purrs, all dark and husky. God, the things I want to hear him say in that voice. An uncontrollable chill runs down my spine at the thought. Damn him and the way he makes my body respond. Damn the fact that he's a client and I can't just tell him to take me back to his place. Damn it all.

I give Andre the next address, avoiding looking Derek—either in his eyes or at his still startlingly obvious erection. Instead, I bury myself in the file for the next house. I think he'll like it. The sooner he does the sooner we can sign the paperwork and end this madness. It takes the full length of the car ride to pull my professional mask back into place, but I do it. "I think you're going to like this one," I say.

"You've said that about every house."

I make my voice as sickly sweet as possible. "That's because it hasn't stopped being true."

The exterior of the mansion makes it look like a work of art. Stark concrete and glass in cubes and rectangles artfully stacked on top of each other. Though it looks narrow in the front I know from the floor plan that it spreads out as it goes back, sprawling across the property.

The inside is just what I would have imagined for him, clean lines and pale wood, with the added feature that many of the downstairs rooms feature glass walls. This means that the house has a ton of natural light, just like he requested, but is also beautiful from the upstairs balconies.

Derek is quiet as I walk him through the house, and I might be imagining it, but I think he may seem less hostile towards this one than the others.

I lead him upstairs to the absolutely amazing master suite. It's the entire top floor, with a glass ceiling and a wall of windows looking down over the rest of the property. "I love this room," I say, looking down at the rest of the house. "I imagine that in the evening looking over the rest of the house would make for an incredible view."

"Hmm." It's the only sound he makes, slowly walking through the room. He looks out over the property and up through the glass ceiling. "You know," he says, "maybe I don't like these kind of windows after all."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

His head snaps towards me, eyes fiery. "Excuse me?"

I know I should stop, apologize, but I'm done. "You heard me. I'm done with this crap. I don't care if you are my client, you're toying with me." My voice rises, echoing through

the room. "I put together houses to show you based on nothing but your love of the damn floor-to-ceiling windows, and now you don't like them?" Derek is walking towards me slowly, and I back away, knowing the closer he is the harder it is for me to think. "I've shown you thirteen houses. Thirteen beautiful fucking houses and they've barely gotten a reaction from you. I worked hard to put this together and you're treating it like a game. And then I see you looking at my ass and that thing in your pants and I think you're not even paying attention to what I'm showing you."

My back hits the wall. Derek is in front of me. I reach out, pressing my hands against his chest just so I can have the distance to breathe—otherwise I feel like he's stealing the air from my lungs.

Derek grabs my wrists, bringing them down and holding them against my hips as he presses himself against me. My body reacts to his, heat pouring through my skin as my thighs scissor together on impulse. His face is so close, so beautiful, and I'm torn between desire and anger. I want this, and I'm so angry that he's doing this to me.

His face is rigid, eyes dark. "I should fire you for speaking to me that way."

I don't say anything, I don't dare. I don't know what I'd say. Half of me wants him to fire me just so we can fuck, and the other part of me knows that if he fires me my job is over—and it can't be over.

"But I'm not going to fire you," he says.

We hang in the silence, and I feel his cock against my hip, hard through his pants. I feel him breathing against me, his own breaths just as desperate as my own. Looking into his eyes, I know he's judging my reaction, seeing what I'll do. I hold my ground, never looking away, and I feel a trickle of my wetness down my leg as my body betrays me.

It's as if he knows what I'm thinking, like he can see what his body is doing to mine. His knee pushes my legs apart and he brushes against me. I can't help the moan that makes it past my lips. His voice is soft, velvet. "You're wet for me, aren't you." It's a statement and not a question.

"No," I say, but even I don't think the lie is convincing.