Love Contract (Bride of the Billionaire)

“Fine,” he finally replies. “It’s a deal. Now come on. Let’s get you into some decent clothes.”

He pulls me to the house and I huff, “What’s wrong with my clothes?” But then I realize I’m getting all upset about nothing. I am wearing work clothes, not something I’d wear if I was going out…if I ever went out.

Winter doesn’t even bother replying, which relieves me at first, then irritates me as he leads me up the steps to his mansion. Does he not take me seriously? I realize this is just a contract—a job—but that doesn’t mean he should just ignore me.

I’m about to say something again when I’m silenced by the view of the inside of his house.

Talk about something out of a movie. It’s not the kind of ostentatious house a rapper would buy; it has class – the kind you would expect from a baron or a duke in England. I could picture royalty parading around beneath the rich wood paneling on their way into a candlelit dining room for their feast cooked by a private chef.

But there’s no time for me to take it all in. Winter pulls me quickly through the foyer and up the stairs to the second floor past countless portraits and paintings that no doubt cost a fortune. It’s like something out of a dream.

I can’t even take it all in before I’m being pulled into room. It’s the size of my bedroom – bigger even – but is just one massive closet. I spot another door in the corner that leads into what looks to be a bathroom of white marble.

“The justice of the peace will be here soon to marry us,” Winter says as casually as though we were discussing our favorite kind of coffee. “Until then, we have to get you cleaned up.”

“I can wash my hands—”

“Sweetie,” Winter replies, turning to me. “You’re going to need to do a lot more than that if you’re going to face my father.”

I don’t even have time to feel insulted. Winter pulls open a door hidden behind a wooden panel and a woman enters carrying a bag over each arm. She glances at him and then at me. “Is this her?”

“That’s her,” he replies. She walks into the bathroom and sets her things down, then returns to stare at me.

“You found one just in time.”

One?

“Just barely,” Winter chuckles. “Now, let’s get her ready for tonight.”

The next thing I know, this woman—whoever she is—has my hand in hers and is pulling me into the bathroom.

“I’m Ruth. What’s your name, hun?”

I hate it when women call me hun.

“Daisy.”

“Daisy.” She smiles. “Well, Daisy. The first thing you’re going to need to do is take a shower. Then I’m going to make you shine like a freshly picked flower. Here’s a towel, and there’s the shower with everything you’ll need.”

Ruth stuffs a towel in my hands and points to a shower behind me that’s so big you could probably fit at least four people in it. I strip down and quickly step into the shower and turn the water on. Three different faucets spray me with warm water, and I quickly soap up a loofa and start washing the dirt off.

“You sure you’re not a model with that body?”

Winter’s voice startles me and I spin around to see him leaning in the doorway staring at me. Instinctively, I try to cover my lady bits.

“Um, a little privacy?”

“You’re my wife,” Winter grins. “I’m allowed to see you naked.”

“I’m not your wife yet.”

“Fine. You’re my fiancée,” he counters. “I’m allowed to see my fiancée naked.”

“Ever heard of waiting until after the wedding for that kind of thing?”

Winter scoffs. “Sure. In the 1800s. Besides, how else am I going to determine your dress size?”

My heart is racing, and my whole body is tingling. I’m so far beyond embarrassed that I don’t even know how to describe what I’m feeling. But beyond that, I’m angry. So angry. Not at Winter—at myself. Because as much as I hate him, and I do…I really do, I also love the way he’s looking at me.