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It's a business arrangement...no strings, no touching, and absolutely no love. 💍A Millionaire at Midnight💍 by Naima Simone is #LIVE! Grab your copy now!
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Boston socialite Morgan Lett is having a run of bad luck. Her fiancé just dumped her for her stepsister, the charity foundation she’s given her life to is in danger of folding, and now, the gorgeous man she bid on and won at a masquerade bachelor auction turns out to be a cold-hearted jerk…and her new employer.
Millionaire Alexander Bishop needs the best wife money can buy. In order to inherit his family business, he must get engaged—fast. And Morgan, with her beauty and pedigree, is the perfect candidate. Her sharp tongue may drive him crazy, but she needs money to save the foundation she loves, and he needs a fiancée. It’s a flawless arrangement—no strings, no love. But soon she has him craving more, and cursing the platonic terms of their agreement.
Still, he won’t allow need—no matter how hot it burns—to threaten everything he’s built.
“Do you fully understand what we would have to do?” Alex growled, advancing on Morgan, momentarily forgetting his resolve to maintain distance between them. “My father isn’t an idiot. He knows how much I despise the idea of marrying again. He—”
“Wait, hold up.” Morgan threw up a hand, palm out. “Again?”
“—won’t be easily fooled. I need to convince him that I’ve done the impossible. That I found a woman I not only want to be with, but who’s also fallen in love with me. Which would explain the whirlwind romance and quick engagement.” The words tasted like day-old ashes in his mouth. “It’s going to be hard enough pretending I’ve gone stupid over a woman—any woman—but can you be that woman, Morgan? Can you pretend you want me? My touch? And not just for a night, but for weeks. Months, if necessary. I don’t think—”
Morgan moved forward. No, prowled forward with a sensual sway of her hips that had the moisture in his mouth drying up like a drought. She didn’t stop until her chest pressed against him, and her thighs brushed his. Jesus. He ground his teeth together, caging the groan that climbed up the back of his throat. The layers of her dress and his sweater didn’t hide the firmness of her breasts. The soft weight of them had his hands itching to yank down the top, slide inside the cups of her bra, and cradle the tempting flesh. To thumb nipples he knew would be a delicate pink—at least until he had his mouth and tongue on them. Then the color would deepen into a dark, beautiful rose…
“Do you know why I came here tonight?” she whispered, lifting a hand and cradling his face. Slumberous blue eyes stared up at him, the same need winding through his blood reflected there. “I couldn’t stop myself, even though I know this is the last place I should be. You…” A breath shuddered out from between her lips, caressing his chin. She whisked her thumb over his cheekbone, shaking her head. “You are like a drug. I shouldn’t want you. I know you’re bad for me, will probably hurt me, but I don’t care. I…need you. Want to just look at you, touch you.” She trailed her fingertips down his temple, over his jaw. Grazed his lips. “You’re all I think about, and…and I can’t fight it anymore,” she confessed on a trembling sigh as her gaze dropped to his mouth. “I don’t want to fight it anymore.” Abruptly she dropped her hand from him and stepped back. “Aaand scene.”
She flung an arm out to the side and folded over at the waist into a flamboyant, exaggerated bow, the knot of hair at the top of her head bouncing. When she straightened, a smirk quirked her lips. The arousal that had hooded her eyes and softened her generous, a shade-too-wide mouth had disappeared as if it’d never been.
“As you were saying?” she asked, arching a dark blonde eyebrow high. “I can’t pretend to want you?”
“You are…” Amazing. Scary as fuck. But he couldn’t force out anything else pass the lust strangling him. His body still hummed with arousal, the need droning inside him like a hundred angry bees.
“Awesome. I know.” She nodded. “I told Mrs. Bradley she should’ve let me play Peter Cottontail in our third-grade play instead of Tree Number One. She missed out on all this.” She swept a hand down her body. “So?” She held her palms up. “Do we have a deal?”
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Naima’s love of romance was first stirred by Johanna Lindsey and Linda Howard many years ago. Though her first attempt at writing a romance novel at 11 never saw the light of day, her love of romance and writing has endured. Now, she spends her time creating stories of unique men and women who experience the dizzying heights of passion and the tender heat of love.
She is the wife to Superman – or his non-Kryptonian, less bullet proof equivalent – and mother to the most awesome kids ever. They all live in perfect, domestically-challenged bliss in the southern United States.
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