The Billionaire Biker's Bitch 1 (3 page)

“Vehicles?”

“Yes, as you might expect, the owner of a motor corporation has access to all the cars, boats, and motorcycles that his various dealerships sell.”

Trevor merged right and turned on Bridge Road and was waved through the security gate.

Claire gasped. “We're going to Star Island?” She was instantly sorry that question popped out. Bridge Road was the only road on and off the island. There was no other possible location they could be headed toward.

“Yes, Ms. Davenport.”

“Where exactly are we going, Trevor? Is there a restaurant or bar or something on Star Island?”

Trevor looked at her in the rearview mirror. “No, Miss. No commercial properties at all. We're going to Mr. Harriman's residence.”

Claire clutched her purse. “Does Mr. Harriman often conduct business from home?”

Trevor kept his eyes on the road. “No, Miss.”

Claire checked her purse for the paperwork she was instructed to bring. Why was he bringing her to his home to discuss her future with the company?

Before she could gather her wits and decide if she wanted to tell Trevor to turn around and bring her home, he pulled into a long driveway bordered by a white metal filigree gate that opened with a tap to the touchscreen. They continued down the drive to a roundabout. Trevor swung halfway around the circular drive and parked the car so that Claire's door was centered in front of the long portico that led to the home's entrance. He opened the door for her and helped her out.

“We're here, Ms. Davenport. Enjoy your evening.” He stood at the door, waiting for her to move, but she stood frozen to the spot.

He gestured to the double door entryway. “You will be met at the door. Good evening, Miss.”

Claire took a deep breath. One week ago, she broke off a long-term relationship because the guy was too sensible, too average, too boring. As she headed to the massive entry doors, she felt her heart quickening, her temperature rising, and her panties getting moist.

“You've come a long way, baby,” she whispered to herself as she pushed the button on the outside control panel.

Her finger barely lifted off the panel and the front door opened. A tall, blond, well-built young man dressed in black pants and tight black shirt greeted her. He looked more like a biker than a doorman or butler. “This way, Miss,” he said.

Claire followed him while looking around quickly, trying to take in the surroundings. The entrance way was tiled in sleek gray marble and had an expansive thirty-foot ceiling with an immense starburst crystal light fixture hanging down over a glass-topped table topped with a tall floral arrangement.

She had to hurry to keep up with his pace, but the furnishings distracted her. As she followed him into what appeared to be a sitting room, she tripped over the plush carpet. She might have fallen had Alexander not been there to take her arm and steady her.

“Good evening, Claire. A new dance step?” he teased.

She pulled free from his grasp and straightened up. Her arm was hot where he had grabbed her, but not because it hurt. His touch set her on fire.

“No, I usually have a few drinks before I try any new moves on the dance floor,” she said.

“We can remedy that,” he said. “What's your pleasure?”

Their eyes met, and she raised an eyebrow at him. She smiled, not sure of what he meant or how she should answer.

It was hard to look away from him. He was still in his business clothes, but his white shirt was unbuttoned at the neck and he had loosened his tie. She noticed he returned her stare without blinking.

Then he smiled. “Maybe I should rephrase. Would you care for a drink, Claire?”

“Yes, a glass of white wine would be nice—” She hesitated.

“What shall I call you?” she asked.

“Alex,” he said.

They were still standing near the entrance of the room. He gestured toward the couch. “Please come in and sit down.”

He led her to the sofa and took a seat in a chair opposite her. A small coffee table separated them. He lifted a bell from the table, rang it two times, and the stud who answered the door reappeared.

“Please bring us a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc
with a cheese and fruit tray, Dennis.” He turned to Claire. “I don't like to drink on an empty stomach.”

Claire nodded when she realized he was talking to her again. She couldn't keep from staring out the window at the incredible view of Miami Beach across Biscayne Bay.

“It looks so peaceful from here,” she said.

“Yes, looks can be deceiving though, as we know. Miami, especially at night, is anything but peaceful,” he said, without turning to share the view. His eyes never wavered from her.

Claire squirmed, feeling hot and uncomfortable under his gaze.

Dennis returned and set a tray on the table with a bottle of wine in a bucket of ice and several plates of food. He started to pour the wine, but Alex put up his hand.

“Thanks, Dennis. I'll take it from here.”

Dennis nodded, turned, and left.

“Not much of a conversationalist, is he?” Claire said, amused.

“That's not his job.”

“Speaking of jobs, you mentioned in your email that we would discuss my future with your company. Is that why I'm here tonight?”

“In a way.”

Alex took the plates of food off the tray and set them on the table. He poured two glasses of wine, handing her one.

He held his goblet up to hers and they clinked glasses. “To an evening of discovery,” he said.

They each took a long sip. He put his glass down, but Claire held onto hers. She needed something to do with her hands so he wouldn't see them shaking.

“What would you like to know?” she asked.

“I already know quite a bit about you,” he said. “At least the information you shared on your job application. I've also seen your school transcripts, reviewed your social media profiles, and received a good report from the office manager after your first week in the showroom.”

“You're way ahead of me, then. I could barely find anything about you at all. If I hadn't crossed paths with you on Monday, I wouldn't even know your name.”

He nodded, acknowledging the fact that information about him was not easy to find, but didn't offer anything further. He picked up his wine and took a long drink.

“May I sit next to you on the couch?”

Claire finished her wine. “You're the boss,” she said.

He appeared amused, much to her relief. She realized that could have come off wrong. He refilled their glasses and took a seat on the couch, leaving little space between them.

“I saw you graduated magna cum laude with a B.A. in English, and are now pursuing a Masters in Creative Writing.”

Claire nodded.

“I'm curious. Given your educational background, what prompted you to apply for the receptionist's job?”

Claire put her wine down for the first time. “I wanted a reasonably interesting job so I can support myself, without being so demanding that it would take me away from my writing.”

“What kind of writing do you enjoy most?” he asked.

Alex looked into her eyes and seemed truly interested, not like they were having bar conversation.

“I'm writing short stories now, and really like it. I have a novel in mind, but no more than some outlines and rough drafts of scenes at this point.”

“What about genre?”

Claire hesitated, but decided to tell all. “I'm experimenting with time travel and fantasy. I've written some humor stories for the school paper as well as a series of interviews of business women for one of the local lifestyle mags.”

He seemed impressed. “You've been published already? Which magazine?”

“It was called
Verve.
But it's gone out of business.”

He took two small plates filled them with fruit and cheese slices, and handed one to her.

“Which do you prefer? Writing fiction or nonfiction?”

Claire had food in her mouth. She took a minute to swallow and wash it down with another sip of wine, feeling self-conscious.

“Fiction, for sure. But I'm guessing that I'll have to supplement my fiction writing with paying gigs, so I'll fill in with freelance writing assignments until...well, until I don't have to anymore. When I have a bestseller or something. I haven't really thought it through that far.”

He was silent for several seconds. “Sounds like you've given it quite a bit of thought. I've spoken to hundreds of college graduates, and not many of them even have a direction, much less a plan.”

Claire's heart soared. He took her writing seriously!

“So, I plan to write as much as I can while I'm in school. That's what makes this job so perfect for me.” She looked over at him. “I can be honest, right?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I'm not looking at this position as a start of a long-term career with your company. But the hours, salary, and stress level are just right for me for now while I'm still in school.”

Claire took a deep breath. She had just made a risky admission. He might want to replace her with someone who wanted to stay with his company.

“People take entry-level jobs for a variety of reasons. It isn't always a career move,” Alex said.

Claire couldn't contain her excitement. He understood that she wasn't ready to devote herself to making money at a job that didn't satisfy her creative needs.

“So you don't think I'm foolish to pursue a writing career?”

“Foolish? Why would I think that?”

“Well, most people consider it a silly dream. I've been told I'll never make a living, and I should get a real job, whatever that is.”

“Claire, is there anything other than writing that you think might fulfill you and is worth pursuing?”

Her hopes fell again. Here we go, she thought.

She stiffened and looked him in the eye. “No. Not at this time. Not ever. There is nothing else I want to do,” she said, making no attempt to keep the defiance from her voice.

“I thought not. That's great! You will be successful, you know.”

Claire laughed in relief. “How do you know that?”

“You have to be. You clearly will accept nothing less, and that means you'll keep at it until you succeed. I applaud you.” He clapped solemnly.

Claire's mind was racing. Now what? She finished her second glass of wine and pulled the bottle from the ice bucket to see if there was more. “Can I finish this?” she asked.

“Absolutely.” He emptied the bottle in her glass. “Wait here. I'll get us another bottle.”

Claire took her glass and moved closer to the floor-to-ceiling windows looking over the bay. Night had fallen, and the bright lights of the Miami skyline twinkled merrily. Boats dotted the calm waters. She was so absorbed in the view that the noise of Alex setting the bottle into the ice startled her and she jumped, spilling her wine.

“Oh, oh no. I'm so sorry,” she cried out, looking around for something to wipe it up.

Alex came over with some napkins, handing her one to wipe her hand.

“No big deal,” he said. “Fortunately, it spilled on the floor, not he carpet.” He bent over to wipe up the puddle at the same time she did, and they knocked heads.

He took her glass from her hand and placed it on a nearby table. “You're dangerous with liquor, it seems.”

Claire once more felt mesmerized by him, like she had at the club. She wasn't close to being as drunk as she had been, so she knew it was his presence, not the alcohol, affecting her so deeply.

Alex straightened up, pulling her with him. He leaned down to kiss her, just as he had in the back of Charli's.

The thought of keeping her job left Claire's mind completely. All she could think or feel was need for him. Since the moment he walked away from her, all she wanted was another opportunity to be with him. To once again taste and touch him.

She opened her mouth, savoring the taste of wine on his lips. She leaned against him, grinding in closely where she felt his bulge push against her legs. It was huge and hard, and Claire wanted it badly.

Her hands dropped to his waist and she undid his belt, then unfastened the waistband of his slacks and pulled his zipper down. She sucked in a deep breath as her hand roamed over his cock. He was still tucked inside his pants, but she could feel his hot thickness pulse in her hand.

Claire dug her hands around the top edges of his waistband and tugged. She dropped to her knees, taking his pants down with her. She sat back on her heels to admire the perfection before her. Alex's cock sprang up, thick and long, reaching almost to his navel.

She wrapped her hands around his manhood and brought the tip to her lips, licking it clean of the clear fluid that was escaping. Then she swept her tongue across his crown, moving her hands in circular motions along his shaft. She slowly fed herself his length, surprised that she could take all of him in. Her lips touched the soft, trimmed hairs of his pelvis, and she cupped his balls, massaging him gently as she sucked.

Alex clutched her hair in his fists. He braced himself against the window, and for a brief second Claire wondered if boaters on the waterway could see his ass plastered against the glass from the distance.

Her mouth was filled with saliva and his cock. Her jaw stretched to the max to fit him, and now she knew she had to go for the gold.

Claire moved her mouth up and down his length slowly, pumping the base of his shaft with one hand as she sucked for all she was worth. She felt the tightening of his balls and his pulsing veins in her mouth. Then she heard a deep groan begin to emanate from above her.

Alex shoved her head against him and pushed deeper down her throat than she imagined possible. Hot streams of his cum flooded her mouth. Most shot down her throat, but some spilled out over her lips.

She held tight until she felt him relax, although his cock stayed hard and didn't seem to shrink at all. Alex let go of her hair and pulled her up to face him.

“You're fired,” he said. “But don't worry, I've lined up another position for you.”

She lifted her head and began delivering little kisses along his neck.

“Do I start Monday?” she whispered.

“Mmhm,” he responded. He stepped out of his pants and shoes and kicked them aside. Lifting Claire in his arms, he strode from the room, across the entry hall, and up a long flight of stairs.