Smothered
A Billionaire's BBW
Headlights strobed across the pine trees. Tires chewed at stones on the dirt and gravel drive. Lila Mathers searched beneath one thigh for the television remote, her movements and generous flesh accidentally pressing the button that shut everything off.
To her left, a banker's lamp with a cracked glass shade illuminated a small rectangle of light in the living room of her narrow trailer. Rising from the couch, she left the light on and walked a cautious line to her dark kitchen.
Lifting her cell phone from its charging base, she looked out the small curtained window over the sink. The vehicle's lights remained on, garishly lighting the first quarter of her trailer. She squinted at the back taillights, a moment's confusion caused by how far they seemed from the front of the car.
A limo -- on her private dirt drive in the middle of nowhere.
She put the phone back on its base and waited to see who would emerge from inside as the door cracked open an inch. Her hands picked at the edges of the plain linen robe in which she had wrapped her body after a shower. Faded blue, the material matched her eyes and covered nothing more than white cotton panties and a bra.
Her hand crept up to her hair. Thick and wavy like the rest of her, the outer layer had dried, frizzing in the process. Everything beneath that layer was humid and warm.
She was definitely in no state to answer the door.
Shaking her head, Lila dismissed the idea completely. A car like that didn't get into trouble, just carried it. The driver could probably have a helicopter onsite in half an hour and a tow truck just a little longer than that. If they were lost, GPS would lead them back to the highway.
She didn't need to play the Good Samaritan. Not to a limo. Not to...
Warren Gates.
Still hiding in the dark of her kitchen, Lila gasped as she saw the man who had fired her six months ago step from the vehicle. The driver's window rolled down and Warren dipped his head, his lips moving in instruction before he straightened and looked long and hard at her front door.
Long and hard were perfect descriptors for the billionaire CEO. He stood at least six-two and, despite all his money, no one hesitated to imply he was a gym freak -- capital F-R-E-A-K. He was rumored to exercise at least two hours a day, every day, and often held meetings with his tight ass pressed against the seat of a rowing machine.
Little wonder she'd been one of the first cuts when "the board" decided to automate all the data entry jobs and offshore all the technical ones. He had probably looked at her dismissal as saving four desks -- if only one salary.
Licking her lips, she moved to the front door as stealthily as possible for a five-foot-four woman who snugly filled a size 22.
Knuckles wrapped against the screen door. Her tongue swiped above her top lip and she rested her head against the wall, waiting for him to knock again. If she had her way, he would knock all night, or at least until his fingers bled.
Not to be a bitch or anything, but Warren Gates had ruined her life. Unemployment hadn't been enough to cover her health insurance and condo payments. At least she had been able to sell the condo at a profit that allowed her to buy her current dump free and clear and leave her money to draw on when her unemployment ran out.
Warren might look like an angel -- a very naughty, sexy angel -- but the man was pure evil.
"Lila, I know you're standing near the door."
His velvet whisky voice brushed smooth then rough against her flesh. She mashed her lips together, her eyes closing as the sensations stirred then pooled at the juncture of her thighs.
Warren pulled the screen door open and stepped onto the top of the concrete block. "I can hear you breathing. Let me in."
She shook her head. House rule #1 -- no asshole inside except the one she wiped twice a day. Didn't matter how rich or handsome, the rule was inviolate.
"I have a business proposition, Miss
A Billionaire's BBW
Headlights strobed across the pine trees. Tires chewed at stones on the dirt and gravel drive. Lila Mathers searched beneath one thigh for the television remote, her movements and generous flesh accidentally pressing the button that shut everything off.
To her left, a banker's lamp with a cracked glass shade illuminated a small rectangle of light in the living room of her narrow trailer. Rising from the couch, she left the light on and walked a cautious line to her dark kitchen.
Lifting her cell phone from its charging base, she looked out the small curtained window over the sink. The vehicle's lights remained on, garishly lighting the first quarter of her trailer. She squinted at the back taillights, a moment's confusion caused by how far they seemed from the front of the car.
A limo -- on her private dirt drive in the middle of nowhere.
She put the phone back on its base and waited to see who would emerge from inside as the door cracked open an inch. Her hands picked at the edges of the plain linen robe in which she had wrapped her body after a shower. Faded blue, the material matched her eyes and covered nothing more than white cotton panties and a bra.
Her hand crept up to her hair. Thick and wavy like the rest of her, the outer layer had dried, frizzing in the process. Everything beneath that layer was humid and warm.
She was definitely in no state to answer the door.
Shaking her head, Lila dismissed the idea completely. A car like that didn't get into trouble, just carried it. The driver could probably have a helicopter onsite in half an hour and a tow truck just a little longer than that. If they were lost, GPS would lead them back to the highway.
She didn't need to play the Good Samaritan. Not to a limo. Not to...
Warren Gates.
Still hiding in the dark of her kitchen, Lila gasped as she saw the man who had fired her six months ago step from the vehicle. The driver's window rolled down and Warren dipped his head, his lips moving in instruction before he straightened and looked long and hard at her front door.
Long and hard were perfect descriptors for the billionaire CEO. He stood at least six-two and, despite all his money, no one hesitated to imply he was a gym freak -- capital F-R-E-A-K. He was rumored to exercise at least two hours a day, every day, and often held meetings with his tight ass pressed against the seat of a rowing machine.
Little wonder she'd been one of the first cuts when "the board" decided to automate all the data entry jobs and offshore all the technical ones. He had probably looked at her dismissal as saving four desks -- if only one salary.
Licking her lips, she moved to the front door as stealthily as possible for a five-foot-four woman who snugly filled a size 22.
Knuckles wrapped against the screen door. Her tongue swiped above her top lip and she rested her head against the wall, waiting for him to knock again. If she had her way, he would knock all night, or at least until his fingers bled.
Not to be a bitch or anything, but Warren Gates had ruined her life. Unemployment hadn't been enough to cover her health insurance and condo payments. At least she had been able to sell the condo at a profit that allowed her to buy her current dump free and clear and leave her money to draw on when her unemployment ran out.
Warren might look like an angel -- a very naughty, sexy angel -- but the man was pure evil.
"Lila, I know you're standing near the door."
His velvet whisky voice brushed smooth then rough against her flesh. She mashed her lips together, her eyes closing as the sensations stirred then pooled at the juncture of her thighs.
Warren pulled the screen door open and stepped onto the top of the concrete block. "I can hear you breathing. Let me in."
She shook her head. House rule #1 -- no asshole inside except the one she wiped twice a day. Didn't matter how rich or handsome, the rule was inviolate.
"I have a business proposition, Miss
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