Page 450 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Edward

"What did you say?" she gasps.

"I want to smell your—"

"I heard you," she says hastily, "But did you have to use the C-word?"

"Did it turn you on?"

Her pupils dilate. Her breathing hitches.

She seems taken aback, but also, she obeyed me.

She’s a natural submissive. Doesn’t mean she’s compliant.

And the deepening azure of her blue eyes tells me she’s going to deny my statement.

She’s feisty, likes to stand up for herself, and isn’t easily cowed.

She’s curvy and perfectly formed, but only a fool would take that to mean she's malleable. This woman may not know what she wants yet, but she’ll stand up for herself.

She’s diffident about her figure—but that’s only because she doesn’t realize how stunning she truly is.

She’s spirited, plucky, a ray of light which illuminates those parts deep inside of me that I haven't wanted to examine closely. She…makes me want things I was sure were not in my future. She urges me to ignore the limitations I’ve put upon myself.

She tempts me to break the rules I’ve decided to live my life by.

She…is turning me into someone who’s obsessed with her every move, her every breath, her every gesture.

She makes me want to find out her every thought, her dreams, her deepest desires…

and fulfill them. She makes me want to own her, keep her, possess her, make her mine.

My belly churns, my heart slams into my ribcage, sweat pools under my armpits, and I rise to my feet. "Come on."

She rises to her feet. I indicate she should follow me. I march across the floor, retracing our steps out the door to the stairs. Taking them two at a time. I reach the landing and wait for her to catch up. She’s panting by the time she reaches me. "What’s the hurry?"

"You’ll see."

I motion for her to go ahead, then curse myself once more when I’m unable to keep my gaze off her luscious behind as she climbs the next set of stairs.

The twitch of her butt, the rhythmic sway of her hips, the pull of the fabric across her arse-cheeks, the way her waist flares out to meet her fleshy bottom…

My throat closes. My mouth dries. The blood drains to my groin.

I reach down and adjust myself, then follow her to the top of the flight of steps.

I brush past her, cross the floor and hold open the door on the far end.

Her footsteps are soft on the carpet as she approaches.

She walks into the room, takes in the rectangular table, the chairs set around it, and the man standing on the far side with his back to us and looking out of the window onto the lights of the city visible in the distance.

"Is that?" She comes to a standstill. "No, it can’t be."

I walk past her, pull out a chair. "You’d better sit down for this."

She doesn’t take her gaze off of the older man. His shoulders froze when he heard her voice, but he doesn’t turn to glance at us.

"Dad?" The color fades from her cheeks. "Is that you?"

He turns and her gaze widens. "What are you doing here?" She swallows.

He looks like he’s about to say something, then he shakes his head. "I’m sorry, Mirabelle." His tone is clipped.

"Sorry for what? Why are you in London?"

"Belle, sit down," I order.

She shudders visibly, then manages to tear her gaze off of her father, and walking over, sinks into the chair.

I push it in. My fingers graze her shoulder, and goosebumps scatter over her skin.

I stay with my head bent, drawing in her sweet apple blossom scent.

My cock extends further, and I straighten.

This is not the time to be sporting a hard-on, especially not in front of her father.

Not that the man particularly cares for her.

If he did, he wouldn’t have come to an agreement with me.

"What’s happening?" She addresses her question to him. "Why are you here?"

"You mean, why is he here in an S&M club?" I drawl.

Her father flinches. His cheeks redden, but he manages to hold his silence. Good thing, too, because nothing he says can justify what he’s about to tell her.

"Dad?" she prompts him. "What’s going on?"

He rubs at his temple then slowly lowers his hand. "You know, I love you, Mirabelle, don’t you?"

"Of course, you’re my father." Her tone is impatient.

"And you know I want what’s good for you?"

She sits up straighter. "What is it? You’re scaring me. Is everything okay? Is it your health? Are you sick? Is that what this is about?"

His features take on a stricken look. "Nothing’s wrong with me, honey." He swallows. "I’m here because"—he looks at me, then back at her—"because…"

"If it’s not you—" She tilts her head. "Is everything okay back home?"

His features soften. "Only you’d be kindhearted enough to ask after your stepmom and sisters, even after the way they’ve treated you."

I lean forward, and before I can stop myself the words are out: "What do you mean? How did they treat her?"

"It’s nothing." She waves her hand in the air.

"I know I’ve never openly taken your side, and I apologize for that." His lips turn up in a sad smile before he raises his gaze to mine. "My wife was threatened by Mirabelle from the moment she saw her. And after the birth of our daughters, that sentiment only grew worse."

"Dad, stop," Belle bursts out.

"I’m telling the truth." He glances at her. "It’s not like I haven’t been aware of how the three of them have tried to make your life miserable over the years."

Every muscle in my body tightens. Why does it matter to me that she hasn’t had an easy life?

Why do I feel this angry that someone upset her, that her own family distressed her?

My stomach churns. Why do I feel her pain like it’s my own?

If only I’d been able to prevent the emotional scars she carries from her growing years.

If only I’d actually been there to help.

I draw myself to my full height. "Your wife and your daughters were unfair to her, and you did nothing? "

The violence in my tone must be evident, for her father holds up his hands. "I accept the blame. I knew they weren’t being kind to her. I should have stepped in, but my head wasn’t in the right space."

"Of course it wasn’t. You’d lost a wife," she interrupts.

"You lost your mother,” he replies.

Belle begins to speak again, but he shakes his head.

"I thought I was doing the right thing by getting married again.

I hoped she would be a stabilizing influence in your life.

I was too consumed by my grief to put things right.

I hoped to make it up to you by finding the right match for you, but I've failed you again. "

The skin across her knuckles whitens. "What do you mean? You said you’d wait until the year was out. You said you’d give me a year to live my own life before you called me home."

He winces. "I said you could live your life until I called on you to come back home."

"And I asked you for a year."

"I never promised that. I agreed to let you go on the condition you’d return when I asked you to."

"Is that why you’re here now?"

"I’m here because"—he swallows—"because—"

"Because he’s arranged your marriage."

She looks at me, confused. "He has?" She leans back in her chair and locks her fingers together. "Dad? Is this true? Have you…have you decided who I’m going to marry?"

He nods but doesn’t raise his gaze.

"Who is it?" she asks in a low voice.

He stays silent.

"Dad, please." She swallows. "Is it…is it someone I know? Is that why you’re not speaking? Is it someone I don’t like? Is it—"

"It’s me."