Billionaire Boss's Unexpected Child

I grimace. I would lose my virginity to a man who is paying me. I’ve held onto it for so long, much longer than any other girl I knew, expecting that my first time would be with a man I was head over heels in love with. I knew there are men out there who are more than happy to use a woman and then toss her aside. I promised myself I’d never give myself to someone who didn't respect me.

And here I am. Contemplating the possibility of giving myself to a man who is paying for my time. I’ve been thinking about how he’d feel inside me since the first time his dark, hard gaze met mine, and I’ve barely stopped since.

My stupid, romantic dreams versus my father’s life. It wasn’t even a debate. I can fall in love later. My father was running out of time, and I couldn’t lose him, too.

I spend some time doing my makeup and pulling my hair into a perfect chignon. It looks sleek and sophisticated. It goes with the dress.

I am playing a part. Acting. All I need to do is keep reminding myself of that.

When I slide the dress on, it fits as perfectly as I suspected it would. It’s a gorgeous, off-the-shoulder gown that clings to every one of my curves. There’s a slit up one thigh, and my breasts are on the verge of spilling out of it.

I’ll have to remember not to breathe too hard, or Dante’s going to have to worry about a lot more than me speaking to someone without being spoken to.

I dab on some of my perfume and look myself over. I don’t recognize myself. Well, almost. This is the me who goes out on stage and wows the audience, an actress made for a role.

Maybe, at my core, that’s all I truly am.

***

When I step out into the living room, Dante’s standing at the windows, holding an amber-colored drink in one of his hands. He turns and looks at me, and his eyes darken.

“Much better than that s

lutty schoolgirl costume,” he says, and I nod. It isn’t exactly a compliment, but why should I expect one?

He sighs. “Well, let’s go.” We head out, and he rests his hand at the base of my spine as I walk past him out of the penthouse. The heat of his palm sears my flesh through the slinky fabric of my gown, and I nearly trip. I do wonder, for about the hundredth time since he told me we were going out, why he didn’t have a date for this. I thought about asking him but changed my mind. It was probably best if we didn’t talk to each other too much. I don’t need to get to know him. I just need to make it through the month.

A black stretch limo is waiting in the garage, and the chauffeur helps me into the back. Dante follows, and within moments we’re driving away. I glance up at him to see him sitting in the seat across from me, dark eyes on me. His gaze flicks down to my chest and I blush.

“It, um,” I begin, clearing away the weird little catch in my throat at the way he’s looking at me, “It fits perfectly. This dress probably cost more than the house I used to live in,” I add with a nervous little laugh. Why the hell won’t he stop looking at me like that, like I’m some kind of package he’s just dying to unwrap?

“It does. I had a feeling you’d look good in red.”

I blush and glance away, and when I look back at Dante, he’s wearing this little smirk that has me pressing my thighs together.

He gives me one more assessing look, like he’s picturing me without the dress or anything else, and then he looks away. “This event is going to be boring as hell. Stay on my arm unless I tell you to go elsewhere. Smile and nod when people introduce themselves to you. If you’re forced to answer any questions, you’re an old friend of mine accompanying me for the night. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“But, in general—”

“I know,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Don’t speak unless I’m spoken to. I got it.”

“Does that bother you, me telling you what to do?”

I shrug.

“Answer.”

“You’re the one shelling out the big bucks, right? I’ll keep my mouth shut all you want, boss.”

“But it bothers you,” he presses, and I wonder what the hell he cares.

“Lots of things bother me. Right this second, I’m finding that you’re bothering me with questions that are pointless for me to answer.”

“Did you just politely suggest that I shut up, Samantha?” he asks, and there’s a gleam to his gaze that has me squirming, just a little.

“I didn’t think I was all that polite about it, but sure.”