His Indecent Demands (Bound and Shackled to the Billionaire) Read Online Free Page B

the sky.
    “That’s because it’s private property. I own it.”
    She’s astonished. But of course, she tells herself, there should be nothing surprising about it. He can own anything he wants – he’s a billionaire after all. But to own acres and acres of wide open space like this –
    She gazes out of the car window, savoring the possibilities.
    “You’re not afraid of trespassers?” she says.
    “There’s only so much you can do. I don’t fence it up, but there’s a natural border of trees and hills further south. There are signs here and there, but like I said, there’s only so much I can do.”
    It strikes her that this is as close to having a normal conversation with him than she has had. She doesn’t want to spoil the moment. She glances at his profile. In the setting sun, he is a glorious silhouette in repose. Truly, he is a sculptor’s dream.
    They finally approach a pair of wrought-iron gates. These crank open to the touch of his remote button. A wall of iron spikes stretch out from either side of the gates for as long as she can see.
    “You live here?” she intuits.
    “Yes.”
    “So it’s an enclave within your own property?”
    “Sort of.”
    She has never heard of such a thing, but she supposes they exist for the very rich.
    They drive in. There are gardens beyond gardens – a profusion of bushes and hedges and trees and crazily paved mosaic paths. The shrubbery has a tinge of wildness to them, much like their owner.
    The house looms up. It’s an imposing manor – two stories with gabled windows and a sloping roof. Ivy creeps all over its walls. It looks old, as in centuries old.
    “Do you live here alone?” she asks.
    There’s so much she wants to ask him. She is naturally curious about him – this strange, mercurial and phenomenally rich man.
    “Yes. I have a housekeeping team which comes in during the day, and a gardening team which comes in three times a week.”
    “No security?”
    He flashes her a glance. “You do ask a lot of questions.”
    “Sorry.”
    “No, you’re not. I have no security as in manpower, if that’s what you are inferring to, because I value my privacy. But the house is well guarded with state-of-the-art technology.”
    He parks the car in front of the entrance. In an open garage built like a pavilion with Doric columns and with a white Grecian roof laden with ivy, she sees a bevy of other luxury cars – a Merc, an Audi 500, a red Ferrari, a Maserati, among many more. He obviously likes his cars.
    They get out. She stands in front of the twin oak doors. The house is like something from another era. It emits an air of mystery, of secrets lurking within its shadows. This is not to say she thinks it’s haunted – by it is certainly haunted by a patina of a forbidding past.
    Much like the owner himself.
    “Is this your family house?” she asks. She can’t help himself. She wants to know everything.
    “No. It came to me six years ago when its previous owner lost a bet.” He raises an eyebrow. “Never place a bet unless you know you’ll win it.”
    “What was the bet?”
    He grins. “You’re reaching, Susan Chalmers. No more questions, OK?”
    “OK,” she says contritely.
    When the week is up and she’s VP, she’s going to ask him all the questions she wants. It’s up to him to decide if he should answer them, of course.
    There’s a boxlike grey panel beside the door – a piece of ultra-modern equipment in stark contrast with the rest of the house. Channing depresses a button and it slides open. Red and green flashing lights wink within. With a whirring sound, a lever protrudes outward, displaying a fingerprint pad. He places his index finger upon it and something clicks within the doors.
    He opens one door. “Step right in.”
    She’s impressed. “What if someone breaks the windows?”
    “They are made of unbreakable glass.”
    “You’re not secretly Batman, are you?”
    He laughs.
    She grins back. She’s enjoying these non-sexual