The CEO's Contractual Wife

“You’ve really thought this through,” I said, disturbed by how methodical he was about the whole thing.

“I never enter a negotiation without a strategy.” He moved closer still, his heat radiating against me. “Which brings me back to the non-negotiable aspect of our arrangement.”

My mouth went dry. “The sex.”

“Yes.” His voice dropped to a dangerous purr. “The sex.”

“I’m not a prostitute, Mr. Carter.”

“I never suggested you were. This would be a marriage in every sense of the word, including the physical aspects.”

“Which you expect me to perform on demand?” I asked, hating the breathless quality of my voice.

His eyes darkened. “I expect mutual satisfaction. I’m very good at making sure my partners are… thoroughly pleased.” The way he said “thoroughly” sent a jolt of heat straight to my core. I pressed my thighs together, praying he couldn’t tell how my body was betraying me.

“You’re asking me to have sex with a stranger.” I said, trying to sound indignant rather than aroused.

“We won’t be strangers for long. And trust me when I say I can make it worth your while in more ways than just fi- nancial.”

“You seem very confident about your abilities,” I shot back.

“I’ve never had complaints.” His eyes locked on mine, challenging. “I can make you come so hard you forget your own name. I can make that pretty pussy of yours so wet it soaks through your panties just by whispering in your car.”

My face flamed at his crude words, but my body responded with a rush of heat between my legs.

“That’s-that’s inappropriate,” I stammered.

know what you’d be getting into.” His voice was unapologetic. “I don’t do vanilla, Olivia. I like

back, needing distance from his overwhelming presence.

need your answer

not enough

no question,” he interrupted. “And I’m not

my chest like a shield. “I’ll

watching me with those predatory eyes.

with my heart hammering and my panties embarrassingly damp. What kind of person was I that being propositioned by my arrogant, demanding boss had turned me on? Sure, Alexander Carter was possibly the most at-

down to my floor, I couldn’t help but wonder: how would those large hands feel on my breasts? Would his mouth be as demanding as his personality? Would he

head, trying to

borrowed from friends, loans that I knew were weigh- ing on him heavily despite his full-time job. Ethan could finish college without the crushing debt

to my floor. I wasn’t special. I wasn’t some supermodel or heiress. I

of candidates. But why? Because I needed money? Half of L.A. needed money. Because we had “chemistry”?

A woman at her lowest point who still managed to hold her head high. Or maybe he

Models, actresses, socialites – themselves at his feet. Why not just find someone to

they’d all throw

afraid of commitment. Real commitment. The kind that involved actual feelings rather than contrac- tual obligations. A

memory of his words: “I can make you come so hard you forget your own name.” Arrogant bastard. But what if he

if we caught feelings? A year is a long time to pretend to be in love with someone. To sleep beside them. To have them

my thoughts. I walked to my desk on autopilot, shoving the folder deep into my bag

spun in her chair. “So? What did

I froze. “What?”

voice to a whisper. “You were

What did he want?”

into something I hoped resembled nonchalance. “Nothing important. Just… work stuff.” Vivian rolled her chair closer. “Work stuff? That’s all you’re giving