His: A Claimed by the Billionaire novella (2 page)

“No.”

“No?” I echoed, trying to understand what
this man was thinking. “Then why the, ‘but’?”

“She told me she can’t have children. I want
children.”

“Children?” I echoed, having a hard time
wrapping my head around what was happening. How had the topic of
children come up between my mom and her new employer? Had it been a
casual conversation? Or had they discussed it more directly, like a
couple considering dating or eventual marriage? “Exactly what is
the relationship between my mom and you?”

“I would say we’re friends.”

“Friends?” I echoed, not sure whether I
believed him. My mom had never said she was involved with this man.
She hadn’t gone on any dates that I’d been aware of. And I would
definitely know about that. Not once had he shown up with a limo,
before today. So jumping to the conclusion that they’d been
romantically involved was probably a little hasty. But still…they’d
discussed having children? Why?

“Let me explain something to you,” he said,
probably sensing my doubt. “I don’t have many friends. Friends help
each other. They support each other. So often I’m in the position
to help someone else. And I don’t mind doing that. I do it all the
time. But it isn’t often that someone can help me in return. And
when that person is not only able to help me, but willing, I call
that person a true friend. Your mother is a true friend to me.”

“Why? What could she possibly do for
you?”

“She’s helped me with a problem that has been
plaguing me for a long time.”

“What problem is that?”

“We can discuss that later. For now, I would
rather enjoy our evening together. Get to know each other.”

“Is this…a date?”

He didn’t answer right away, and I began to
question whether I’d confused generosity with something else. I
opened my mouth to rescind my question, but his answer cut me
off.

“Yes, Allison. Yes, it is a date.”

Holy crap.

Holy shit.

Holy…what the hell?

A date? I was on a date with my mother’s
boss?

I didn’t know what to say. His confession
shocked me. My mother had set me up on a blind date with her boss?
And she hadn’t even told me about it?

Why?

She’d made up a story about him inviting us
out to dinner to celebrate my birthday. Why had she lied? She’d
never lied to me before. Never.

Why?

If anything, that was the one issue I had
with this whole thing—that my mother had lied to me. Nothing else
bothered me. Mr. Sharpe’s age was not a big deal.

He was handsome. Rich. Sexy.

Maybe she’d lied so I would give him a
chance, get to know him a little, rather than assuming he was
too…old/rich/whatever for me?

Maybe?

“You’ve become very quiet,” he said. He was
still sitting right there, next to me, his arm draped over the back
of the seat. And those cold, hard eyes of his were drilling into
mine.

“I’m okay. Just a little confused.”

“About what? You’re a beautiful woman. I’m a
man. I wanted to get to know you.” The car stopped just as I was
about to respond, so I didn’t. “Ah, we’re here. I don’t care to eat
out often, but when I do this is my favorite place.”

I peered out the window. The sign said,
Entrepôt. With the little squiggle over the O, I figured it must be
some kind of foreign word. Entrepôt. Never heard of it.

But that wasn’t much of a shock. Considering
the fact that Mom and I considered a trip to McDonald’s a luxury,
any place that a man like Mr. Sharpe would dine would be way out of
our league.

The driver opened the door for us. Mr. Sharpe
had me exit first. He followed. I was fully aware of him as he
stepped up behind me. I felt his heat simmering over my skin. He
placed one hand on the small of my back. “This way.” His voice was
a low, intimate rumble. The sound sent little tremors quaking
through me.

I let him steer me through the door. Inside,
we were greeted by a young hostess and promptly paraded past the
waiting patrons lounging on the benches lining the walls of the
entry, and through a maze of tables in the cavernous dining area to
a room in the very back of the large building. It was small,
compared to the high-ceilinged, wide-open space we had passed
through. And it was empty.

“Is this okay, Mr. Sharpe?” the hostess
asked, knowing his name even though he hadn’t spoken a word to
her.

Clearly, he had some clout in this place. I
had to admit I was impressed. She slid me a glance while she waited
for his response.

“Yes, thank you,” he said.

She bobbed her head and scampered off,
stealing one more glance over her shoulder before turning the
corner.

“Wow,” I said as I sat. He pushed in my chair
for me like a gentleman. No guy had ever done that for me. “Now
this is service.”

“I prefer privacy. I hope you don’t mind
dining back here, alone.”

“Not at all.”

“Good.”

A waiter arrived, so silent I hadn’t realized
he was there until he was standing next to Mr. Sharpe. The waiter
displayed a wine bottle, and at my date’s nod, he opened it and
poured two glasses. Then he ran off without speaking a word.

Mr. Sharpe lifted his glass. “To getting to
know each other.”

Wondering if I should point out that I was
legally too young to drink, I lifted my glass and tapped it to his.
“To getting to know each other.”

Not knowing what to expect—I hadn’t tasted
wine before—I sipped. It was strong but tasty. I took another
drink. Oh, yes. Very good.

“Do you like it?” he asked, after swallowing
some.

“I do. I wasn’t sure whether I would or not.
I’ve never had wine before.”

He cocked one eyebrow. “A first.”

“One of many tonight. The limo. The
restaurant. The wine.”

“I’m glad to be the one to introduce you to
so many new things.” His smile was one hundred percent genuine. But
there was a flicker of mischief in his eyes. I liked that flicker.
It made him seem younger, less intimidating.

I drank some more wine, welcoming the warmth
that swirled through my belly as I swallowed. This stuff was
really, really good.

“Your mother tells me you’re graduating from
school in June,” he said as he set his glass on the table. His
fingers traced the line of the stem. For some reason their subtle
movement caught my attention.

“Yes,” I answered, staring at his hand. “Only
one more month.” His nails were neatly trimmed, his fingers tapered
and elegantly shaped but still masculine.

“What are your plans after graduation?”

“I’ll be looking for a full-time job.”

“No college?”

“No. Not right now. My mother…” I didn’t
finish the sentence.

From his understanding nod and I-get-it
expression, I knew didn’t have to.

Our waiter returned, this time with some
plates and an appetizer. Zip, he was there, and zoom he was gone.
Silent. A ninja waiter. The man had talent.

“I have a question for you,” Mr. Sharpe said
as he placed one piece of the appetizer on a plate. He handed it to
me.

“Thank you. Shoot.” I set the plate down and
inspected the contents. Looked to be some kind of fish wrapped in
something. I poked at it with my fork.

“If you knew your mother was cared for, would
you want to go to college?”

“That’s a tough one. I’ve been living under
the assumption I would be working after I graduated…” I considered
his question. Would I consider leaving her if I knew she was okay?
It was hard thinking like that, when I knew my mother needed me,
now perhaps more than ever. Her health had recently declined
rapidly. Her doctors had warned me that she wouldn’t be able to
work for much longer. This was my reality. I couldn’t really step
out of it. “I honestly can’t say. But I will admit I couldn’t go
far away to school, even if she had a full time caretaker. I
couldn’t leave her alone.”

“Understood. What about marriage?”

I couldn’t help laughing at that question.
“Marriage? I would have to have a boyfriend or fiancé to be
thinking about that.”

“There’s no one?”

“Not at the moment.”

He seemed pleased at my response. Considering
we were on a date, I supposed there was a good reason for that.
Emboldened by all of his personal questions, I decided to ask him
one.

“What about you? Are you looking to get
married?”

“Not at the moment, no.”

“But didn’t you say you want children?”

“Ah, I see you have been listening.” One side
of his mouth quirked up, forming a lopsided smile. Charming.

“Of course I’ve been listening.”

“I do want children. But that doesn’t
necessarily mean I must get married.”

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that
response.

A part of me was starting to feel
uncomfortable, unsettled, by this conversation. Maybe it was what
he was saying. Maybe it was the way he was looking at me. Maybe it
was the fact that my mother had lied about the blind date. And
maybe it was because he seemed so far out of my league I didn’t
understand why he had wanted to go on a date with me in the first
place.

“You disagree?” he asked.

“Well…maybe.”

He lifted a brow, an invitation to explain, I
surmised.

So that was exactly what I did. I said,
“Having been raised for most of my life by a single mom, I think
it’s better if a kid has two parents in her life. Mom and dad.
Together. Kids deserve stability.”

“What if I were able to offer stability to my
child, but without necessarily marrying the mother?”

“Why not marry her?”

“Why marry her? In my situation, marriage
greatly complicates things. I have to get my attorneys to draft a
pre-nup, and even then I risk losing what I’ve worked so hard to
gain for the last twenty years.” He leaned closer, staring straight
into my eyes. “Try to put yourself into my shoes, Allison. Try to
imagine what it’s like. There are hundreds of women throwing
themselves at you all the time. They all want something from you.
Money. Houses. Cars. A lifestyle they can’t get on their own. They
all claim to love you, but you can’t ever be sure they mean what
they say.”

“Some of them might mean it,” I suggested.
Why wouldn’t they? Mr. Sharpe was intelligent, gorgeous and
polished. There was more to him than his bank account. I could see
that, and if I could, then I had to assume other women did too.

“Sure, but how would you determine who does
and who doesn’t?”

“I don’t know.”

“Exactly. The only way for me to know is to
make it clear I can’t promise them anything. Then, if they’re
looking for a ring, a bank account, and a name change, they give
up.”

“Surely you’ve had a few stick around.”

Looking grim, he shook his head. “Not
one.”

“None?” I asked, wondering what I was
missing. Was he being a complete jerk and that was why they’d all
dumped him? Was he leading them to believe he was a player?

“Not a one. So, you see why I’ve given
up?”

“I…guess so.”

“But I want a child someday. I will have a
child. And that child will be well-provided for. He will have
everything he needs.”

Something struck me then, as I sat there, in
that fancy restaurant, looking into Mr. Sharpe’s eyes, listening to
his proclamation about his child.

It was no wonder they’d all ran off, if he
was going to talk like that.

My stomach sank to my toes.

Was it just a defense mechanism? Or was he
serious about not marrying any woman, no matter who she was or what
she did? Was I being a fool, letting myself imagine he might be
looking for a genuine connection with me? Friendship.
Companionship.

“I think I would like to go home now,” I
said, suddenly feeling a little sick.

He tipped his head and gave me a questioning
look.

I stood. “Frankly, I don’t understand what
we’re doing here. First, you get my mother to set us up on a blind
date, and then you tell me you don’t trust women and have no
interest in any kind of serious relationship. Who says that on a
first date? What the hell do you want from me?”

He caught my wrist. Strong fingers circled
it. “Please, sit down.”

“I think you’re your own worst enemy
here.”

“Allison.”

“Ryan. I want to go home. Take me home.” I
glared at him. Then, when he didn’t get my drift, I shifted my mean
eyes to his hand, still gripping my wrist. “Now.”

“I will, but only if you promise me one
thing.” He slowly unfurled his fingers.

Painfully aware of where he’d been holding my
wrist, I rubbed it. It wasn’t sore. He hadn’t hurt me. But my skin
sizzled from his touch. I hated that my body reacted that way to
him. I despised it. “I don’t need to promise you anything. I can
get home on my own if you won’t take me.”

“It’s a small thing.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” I said.
“What do you want from me? Why did you go to all this trouble? The
date. The limo. The private room here at this fancy restaurant.
What is this?”

“I wanted to get to know you.”

“Why? You don’t want a girlfriend. You’ve
made that clear. If you want sex, you’ve got the wrong girl. I’m a
virgin. Yes, you heard that right. And I have no plans on changing
that anytime soon, especially not with a man who doesn’t know what
the word commitment means.” God, I was confused. And embarrassed.
And…did I say confused? All I wanted to do was get away from this
man. Far, far away. He made me feel unsteady and uncomfortable and
off-kilter. I didn’t understand him. What the hell did he want?

He motioned to my chair, which I had
abandoned.

Reluctantly, I sat.

He cleared his throat. “First, allow me to
take you home. I insist.”

“Fine, if you insist.”

“Second, I wanted to get to know you
because…I saw a picture of you and I thought you were beautiful. I
know you’re a virgin. That was one of the things that attracted me
to you.” He lifted his wine glass took a drink then set it down
again. That sharp gaze of his remained locked on me the entire
time. “I want to be your first, Allison.”