Virgin Wanted (BWWM Billionaire Romance) by Sierra Cole Page B

just do exactly as he says.
    And that’s when I see her, lying there sprawled, facedown on the kitchen floor, sobbing, covering her face, dots of blood spattered around her on the faded, dirty linoleum floor.
    He lets go of me, but only so that he can unbuckle his belt, slipping it from the loops of his stained dirty jeans and then doubling it up in his hand, holding it by my face to show me – to threaten me.
    “Don’t you say a word about this, girl,” he growls, “or you’ll get such a hiding you wont be able to sit down for a week. You got that?”
    I look from the belt, then to Mom, and then up at him him, nodding slowly and silently as the hot tears begin to well up in the corners of my eyes and then spill down my cheeks ...
    I wake with a start, gasping and clawing at the silk sheets as if they’re trying to strangle me. But of course it was just a dream, I remind myself, a dream which is quickly slipping to the back of my consciousness now, fading like a long-forgotten bruise, just a dream of a person that I never ever want to think about again ...
    “Hey, what’s wrong?” comes the voice from behind me.
    I turn around to face him, remembering all over again that tonight he didn’t ask me to leave. Tonight we both fell asleep in his bed and it was amazing ...
    “It’s nothing,” I murmur, snuggling into him, feeling him slip his arm tenderly around my shoulder, drawing me even closer. “Just a stupid nightmare.”
    He brings his lips to mine in a soft, sleepy kiss, and then we both fall asleep again like that – wrapped in each other’s arms, happy and content.
     

 

     
     
    Alisha
     
    I’m stepping back to assess my outfit in the full length dress mirror – it’s looking okay , I mean, you can never go too far wrong with a trusty Little Black Dress, can you, but it’s still missing something, maybe an accessory of some sort? – when there’s a knock at the door. I’m expecting it to be Helena, but when I open it, there’s Marcus.
    “You look absolutely stunning,” he says.
    And I guess I could say the exact same thing about him. I mean, this guy would look amazing in anything , but seeing him there like that, dressed in a perfectly tailored jet-black tuxedo and bow tie, his hair slicked back and shining with pomade, his freshly shaven skin glowing with health and vigor – well, he just looks like a real Prince Charming .
    “Can I come in?” he asks.
    “Of course,” I laugh, stepping aside to let him into the room. “I mean, this is your house after all. Oh, and sorry about all the mess ...” I add with a shrug, hoping he doesn’t mind the hundreds of discarded designer dresses strewn all about the room – on the floor and the bed – which I haven’t quite had the time to tidy away again yet. And looking at the sight, I marvel again at just how different my current situation is from just a single week ago. I mean, here is thousands upon thousands of dollars worth of couture, just thrown on the floor like some bargain bin outlet store in a strip mall.
    “And what are these?” he asks, lifting my sketch book out from beneath a couple of dresses on the bed and flipping through the pages.
    “Oh, that’s nothing,” I say, feeling myself blush and quickly snatching the book out of his hand before he laughs at my crappy designs. “Just some stupid sketches. They’re nothing ...”
    “They’re very good,” he says.
    “Give me a break,” I laugh, unable as always to receive a compliment with good grace. “They’re just doodles. Anyway, is it time to go?”
    “Almost,” he says, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket and drawing something out of it, something that sparkles for a moment in his long tanned fingers before they quickly close around it, hiding it from view. “Come and stand here, Alisha. Right here in front of me.”
    I move over to where he’s standing and do just as he says, realizing that he’s positioning me once more in front of the mirror I