The Billionaire’s Kitten

“Oh!” came my cry.

The big man merely chuckled, chest rumbling. God, it felt so good to be pressed close to him, to feel that hard muscle against my boobs. And the strange man liked it too.

“I see you got a nice pair,” he rumbled. “Soft and white like cream.”

Oh my god, why were men always talking about my body? This time, I opened my mouth to yell at him, but the words died on my lips because I got my first good look at the alpha, and he was the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen. Dark, almost black hair hung over one eye, with a straight nose and chiseled jaw. Those eyes were a piercing blue, making me go weak inside.

“Oh um, hi,” I whispered weakly, heart fluttering like a bird.

The man quirked an eyebrow.

“Hi?” he ground out, amused. “One second you were Cinderella on the floor there, picking up glass with your hands. Now it’s ‘hi’ for your savior? Nothing more?”

I stammered.

“Um- um, thank you?”

The alpha tossed his head back and laughed, showing off perfect white teeth. The column of his throat was bronzed, thick and strong. I fought the urge to kiss him there, to run my tongue up and down that perfect line, tasting him. God, what was wrong with me? I’ve never been with a man before, and now I was thinking about seducing this guy? Down Kitty, down girl, my inner voice went.

But the man didn’t give me time to answer because with long steps, he strode across the club floor like he owned it. I caught a glimpse of Morty as we passed and tried to signal, tried to make like this wasn’t my idea, but it was useless. I was caught in this strange man’s arms, unable to move, pinned to that hard chest. Besides, I’d caught a look at Morty’s face, and my boss’s tongue had been hanging out, as surprised as me. Serves him right. He was so mean to his waitresses that now one was being abducted.

But when we exited the dark floor, I began squirming.

“Hey!” I proclaimed. “I have a job! I can’t just take off, I’m gonna be fired!”

The man didn’t even acknowledge me.

“Shh, pretty girl,” he rumbled. “Shhhh, kitty kitty.”

What was that supposed to mean? We went down a dark hallway, turning a corner, all of it deserted and I began to panic.

“Hey, where are you taking me?” I asked, trying to push away from that hard chest. “What’s going on?”

But the big man still ignored me, gripping my curves tight, striding even faster.

“Stop, stop!” I shrieked. “This is crazy!”

Finally we entered an office. Or office is too normal of a word, because the space was huge, with double height ceilings and windows all around.

“What in the world?” I squealed. “Where are we?”

The man dropped me unceremoniously on my feet, and I stumbled for a moment in the stilettos.

“Where are we? I have to get back!” I yelped again, steadying myself against a plush leather couch.

But the man strode to one window, flicking a switch, and suddenly it was obvious where we were. Because the pane went dark for a moment before going light, and suddenly we were looking over Club Milano, people gyrating on the floor, colored lights flashing crazily.

“Where is this?” I whispered, eyes drawn to the crowd. “Where is this place?”

By now, the big man had dropped to sit on a deep blue sofa, folding those long legs.

“My office,” he rumbled deep in his chest, blue eyes amused. “Where else?”

I swallowed thickly.

“Your office? But why? I have to get back, my boss is gonna be pissed.”

Even as the words came out, I caught a glimpse of Morty through the glass. Yep, it was him in that purple velvet suit, but instead of his usual scowl, he looked sweaty, nervous and jittery. I blinked. Maybe it was my imagination. Had to be. Morty’s always been so mean, there was no way he was nervous.

But the man in the couch chuckled again deeply.

“Mortimer? Naw, loser’s not pissed, trust me.”

I whirled to face him.

“How do you know? I just got this job,” I choked. “I really need it, and I’m gonna be fired now.”

The dark man looked at me wryly.

“I know because Morty works for me,” he tossed out casually. “Grayson Channing at your service.”

And suddenly I realized why those blue eyes looked so familiar, why there was an aura of command around him. Because this was the owner of the Milano, Mr. Channing himself. I’d seen that mug in dozens of magazines, always with a pretty girl hanging off his arm, if not two or three. I was here with the most powerful man on the Strip, and my body went weak, mind hazy.

“Um, Mr. Channing,” I mumbled. “Why am I here? I’m a good employee, I swear,” I began. “I swear, tonight’s my first night but I’m usually much better. I don’t know why I spilled those drinks, I’m sorry I ruined your carpet …” the words came babbling out.