The British Billionaire Bachelor Read online

  Elizabeth’s Education

  Some books of this genre tend to feature the same activities over and over, or with one-demensional characters. This wins out over several I’ve read lately. Excellent blend of male/female romance, emotions, plus plenty of kink and BDSM/CP. An actual story that still has plenty of explicit sizzle.

  Elizabeth’s Education–The Inheritance

  (Forbidden Lust)

  This book is not your usual d/s book. It is a real novel with real characters, and a story that touches the heart, and does so with all the passion, romance and sexual heat you could ever want. It is several notches above anything else I have read in this genre–and the mainstream as well.

  Déjà Vu

  Having read and enjoyed Elizabeth’s Education immensely, I was delighted to read another book by this author and hoped to enjoy it as much. Déjà Vu did not disappoint. One of the things I like most about Maggie Carpenter’s writing, apart from her ability to write unflinchingly intoxicating sexual scenes, is her ability to express insights into the mind/body, physical/emotional connections within the D/s dynamic.

  An Eternal Flame

  (Deja Vu–Book Two)

  Not only does this book start fast, it builds and builds, like, well... It is hot! When Eden opened the package with the red corset, I was captivated. Then the letter, the blindfold, the sex. I desperately wanted to be Eden and feel what she was feeling. Great book. I will read it again and again.

  Malibu Heat

  (Maggie Carpenter Erotic eBooks)

  Glamorous characters, hot kinky sex, and a great story. An easy read. Didn’t know Dominance and Submission could be so entertaining. Have yet to read the author’s other works. Looking forward to them.

  The Blog: Malibu Dark–Book One

  Wow, I love the way this story was written. It was sexy, hot, and I fell in love with the story and the characters. I found myself rooting for Scott the most. :-) I can’t wait to read more stories from Maggie Carpenter.

  The Billionaire’s Daughter

  I suspect that Maggie Carpenter may know her stuff first-hand, when she writes about the pleasure of being controlled, dominated, and lovingly abused. Her fine language and eye for erotic detail bring the joy of submission to life. Romantic and sexy, lusciously written. An absolute, lascivious pleasure to read.

  Cover design, interior book design and eBook design

  by Blue Harvest Creative

  www.blueharvestcreative.com

  The British Billionaire Bachelor

  Copyright © 2013 Maggie Carpenter

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Published by

  Dark Secrets Press

  ISBN-13: 978-0615822846

  ISBN-10: 0615822843

  Visit the author at:

  www.maggiecarpenter.com

  www.MaggieCarpenter.com/blog

  www.facebook.com/MaggieCarpenterWriter

  www.twitter.com/magcarpenter2

  Check out the trailer for The Brtish Billionaire Bachelor and other Maggie Carpenter titles on her YouTube channel:

  www.youtube.com/channel/UC34D1JhwfFecUe6-ebPbC-w

  Belle Somers let out an excited squeal as she hung up the phone. She was a realtor at a high-end real estate company in Beverly Hills, and the manager of her company, Susan Caldwell, had just left her a voice mail saying a wealthy, out-of-town buyer had been referred to the office, and Belle was first choice for the assignment.

  Grabbing her briefcase she jumped in her car. From the information Susan had left it was apparent the new client could buy just about any house that took his fancy. He wanted the very best and he wanted it yesterday.

  She lived only five minutes from the office and was soon pushing through the double glass doors headed to Susan’s workplace, barely able to contain her elation. A fast expensive deal. Thank God! She hadn’t had a sale in months. As usual, Susan was on the phone, but cut her conversation short when she saw Belle approaching.

  “Okay, Belle. This is a bit unusual but nothing you can’t handle,” she said, the moment Belle had settled into the chair in front of her boss’s desk.

  “I’m ready!” Belle replied, eager to get started.

  “His name is Simon Sinclair and he’s from London. Tyler Anderson referred him to us.”

  Belle raised her eyebrows in surprise.

  “You’re kidding? Tyler Anderson?”

  Tyler Anderson was one of the company’s most successful international realtors and a force to be reckoned with. He had already sold a number of pricey houses in the more exclusive areas of Los Angeles, including Beverly Hills.

  “Apparently Mr. Sinclair only works with women, and when Tyler described the kind of realtor Mr. Sinclair was looking for I thought you would be perfect.”

  “Because...?” Belle already knew where this was going.

  “He’s a bit difficult, and you are our ‘bit difficult’ specialist.”

  Belle laughed. It was true. For whatever reason she was great with the troublesome clients. Even when they were frustrating and impossible, she could keep her cool and smooth their ruffled feathers.

  “Plus, you lived in London–you’ll speak his language,” Susan added.

  “It all sounds great,” Belle replied enthusiastically.

  “Hold on to your hat,” Susan warned. “There’s more. This is a serious guy. He is one of the richest men in the UK. Single, oh, and that’s another thing, he won’t work with married women because he demands 100% attention 100% of the time, and married women have husbands and kids.”

  “Not quite sure what to make of that,” Belle remarked, a frown creasing her brow.

  “The house he’s looking for must be impressive but not pompous, his words, by the way, with attention to detail. Cost not an issue. He’ll spend as much as he needs to get what he wants.”

  “That’s fantastic!” Belle exclaimed.

  “Yes, it is. A buyer like this doesn’t come along every day. Let’s just hope he sees something he likes,” Susan said wryly.

  “This is incredible. I’m so grateful. Thank you!”

  “Hmmm. Don’t thank me yet. He could run you ragged and not buy a thing.”

  “True. Wouldn’t be the first time,” she agreed, but I do adore British men so I can’t imagine it will be too terrible, she thought happily. “When does he arrive?”

  “His jet is landing this afternoon and you’re to have dinner with him at his hotel tonight.”

  “Where’s he staying?”

  “The Bel Air.”

  “Really? I haven’t been to the Bel Air Hotel since the renovations. I love it there!” Belle declared. “Well, if I’m going to have dinner with a difficult new client at least it’s going to be somewhere fabulous.”

  “Oh, one more thing,” Susan said, leaning across the desk. “Evidently this guy is all business so wear a power suit. Nothing frilly.”

  “Uh-oh, I don’t own a power suit,” Belle grimaced.

  “You have the afternoon to go buy one, or find something that looks super professional.”

  “Yikes. Okay. I’m sure I can pull something together,” she answered, mentally rummaging through her closet. Belle’s style had always been eclectic. She could do tailored, but she’d never w
orn a power suit in her life.

  “He has asked that you call him at the hotel at 5 p.m. to meet over the phone, and if he likes what he hears he’ll tell you what time he wants you to meet him for dinner.”

  “I’m going to have a telephone interview?”

  “I guess. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”

  “Really appreciate your confidence in me,” Belle smiled, meaning it. “I hope you’re right. Do you want me to call you when I get back tonight?”

  “Or email.”

  “Okay, here I go,” Belle stated firmly, and standing up, turned and headed to her hole-in-the-wall office, a place she affectionately called her ‘hovel’. It was tiny but it was all hers.

  Booting up her computer, she searched out the nicest properties in Beverly Hills and printed out the information sheets. Though she didn’t know how many square feet he wanted, or bedroom count, or architectural style, at least she could arrive with something tucked away in her briefcase if an opportunity presented itself. Better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it; a motto she lived by.

  It didn’t take very long and she hurried home to consult her wardrobe. As she pulled out jackets and skirts and dresses, she realized she had nothing that even resembled a power suit.

  “Darn it,” she said out loud. “This is stupid. I’ve never been a power suit woman.”

  Pulling on a black skirt and a Givenchy black, white and aqua silk patterned blouse, she studied her reflection. She looked great. Black glossy heels and black hose would finish the picture. It was elegant and refined, but still feminine, and the aqua in the shirt highlighted large green eyes. Not a power suit but close enough!

  She was satisfied, but as she undressed she couldn’t help but think about Susan’s admonition. Belle knew she wasn’t following orders, but following orders wasn’t something Belle was particularly good at–with one exception. She had a dark secret.

  Belle loved being controlled and dominated behind bedroom doors. She found being tied up and teased deliciously tantalizing, and being smacked on her backside sent a scintillating, spicy sensation through every part of her. She absolutely loved it. It was early in her life that a dark-haired, dark-eyed Italian boy had introduced her to a few of the exotic, erotic arts, but it took a long time before a man named Justin came along, the first to spank her, deny her, and lace her body with ropes. Since they had parted company she’d had no luck finding another like-minded soul. It had been three long years.

  Belle was a very pretty woman with a trim, athletic figure, long auburn hair and large luminous eyes. Dates weren’t the issue. It was what happened when she would delicately raise the suggestion of something a bit out of the ordinary, like bondage or spanking. If she wasn’t met with a frown of disdain, she would invariably find herself subject to the fumbling attempts of a clumsy admirer wanting to please, having no idea what he should be doing or how he should be doing it.

  Maybe Mr. Sinclair will make my toes curl, she thought, checking to make sure she had a fresh pair of hose. He’s British at least. That alone will make my night.

  She had no illusions about any kind of potential romance, but being directed in business by a no-nonsense British billionaire could certainly provide fodder for her late night interludes when her fingers toyed between her legs and her imagination took hold. Just the thought sent a titillating thrill down her spine. She glanced at the clock, willing the minutes to speed by. Five p.m. couldn’t come soon enough.

  The afternoon dragged by, until finally the time had arrived. Curled up on her comfortable couch, Belle willed her heart to settle as she waited for Simon Sinclair to pick up the phone. Her call had been answered by a youngish-sounding man who had politely told her Mr. Sinclair was tied up on another line and would be with her as soon as he was able. Nothing less than she expected.

  As the minutes ticked away, she stared absently at the mute pictures flickering across the screen of her television set. There was a mesmerizing car chase taking place, and the crazy driver was whizzing through red lights, narrowly missing those who just happened to cross his path.

  “Miss Somers?” a deep British voice asked.

  Belle jumped.

  “Yes–uh–Mr. Sinclair,” she stammered, furious with herself for having allowed the drama on the screen to distract her. “It’s very nice to make your acquaintance.”

  “Quite,” came the clipped response.

  Belle stiffened. The voice was aristocratic and somber. She imagined a sixty-something bald man in thick glasses and a slight paunch from too many hours behind a desk.

  “If you don’t mind, I have some questions I must ask you.”

  “Not at all, Sir,” she replied, shocked that she had used the word Sir. She hadn’t done so since Justin. Should she have said Mr. Sinclair?

  “Are you unattached?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “That includes boyfriends, or girlfriends, if that is your proclivity.”

  Jeeez–what kind of question is that?

  “I am quite single. I can assure you I will be at your complete disposal to meet your needs,” she replied, the words tumbling nervously out of her mouth, then cringed, thinking she may have sounded inappropriately suggestive.

  “How many houses have you sold this year?”

  Belle gulped. Would he care that she’d had a terrible eight months?

  “One.”

  “Lean year then?”

  “Yes, Mr. Sinclair.”

  “Are you working with any other clients at present?”

  “No. Not at present.”

  “Are you prepared to work for me exclusively until I find the right property?”

  Belle hesitated. If he did buy a house it would be a big deal, but if he–

  “Is that a problem?” he pressed, his voice tinged with a hint of impatience.

  “Perhaps we could discuss a time limit,” she suggested, worried about a lengthy arrangement that might bear no fruit.

  “I think we can discuss a situation that will alleviate the obvious concerns,” he replied in his clipped British accent.

  “Thank you,” Belle replied. “I would very much like to work with you.”

  “That’s fine, Miss Somers,” he quipped. “Please give my assistant your address. A car will pick you up at 6:15.”

  She caught her breath. A car? She was being picked up?

  “Miss Somers?”

  “It’s okay, I can drive to–”

  “Ms. Somers, I prefer that a car pick you up,” he interjected, cutting her off.

  “Oh–yes, Mr. Sinclair. Thank you,” she answered, feeling distinctly put in her place.

  “Hold the line please.”

  Belle took a deep breath and suppressed an excited squeal. It was happening!

  “Miss Somers, Cecil Havers speaking. May I have your address and phone number please?”

  She gave him the information and placed the handset back on the cradle, thrilled and completely rattled. Finding a career hadn’t been easy, and when she had embarked on her foray into real estate, she never imagined she would one day be working with one of the richest men in England.

  After leaving UCLA with a degree in journalism, she had landed a job for a small public relations company and was relatively happy for a number of years, until the novelty of dealing with celebrities began to wear off. Having discovered a love of antiques while living in London, she had taken a leap of faith and opened a small booth in an antique mall. The hours were long and arduous, and while she found it creatively satisfying and enjoyed it immensely, the money she made was barely enough to sustain her. It was the delivery of an 18th-century table to a client that brought real estate into her life. The client to whom the table was being delivered had made a small fortune selling high end properties, and encouraged Belle to at least consider the notion of becoming a realtor. Taking the woman’s advice was the smartest thing she’d ever done, and since obtaining her license several years before she had been consistently suc
cessful. She had finally found her niche and landed on her feet.

  Picking up her iPad she sent Susan a quick mail.

  Passed the phone interview, meeting for dinner.

  That will make Susan happy, she thought, and decided a cup of tea was in order. During her years in London she had learned that a cup of tea cured anything and everything, and right now she needed something to settle her jangled nerves. When she’d finished making the hot, soothing drink, she settled back in front of the television, turning up the volume to follow the inane commentary of the reporters stating the obvious, and watched as the car chase sped its way through the streets of Los Angeles.

  Her mind began to wander. The potential sale could be her ticket to the upper echelon in her office. Most of the homes she’d sold were in the $1M to $2M range. The big sale–the name in lights sale–had eluded her. She wanted this, and she wanted it badly. It was her chance to finally break out of the shadows in which she always felt she had lived.

  Belle had been born in Washington D.C., the daughter of a diplomat. As the middle child of three girls, she had found herself constantly betwixt and between, and often felt somewhat superfluous. Her elder sister, Josephine, was a serious academic who had attended Harvard, and after falling in love with a highly respected and bespectacled professor, had married and remained in Boston.

  Her younger sister, Lucinda, was one of those rare children upon whom the Angels smiled. She was not just stunningly attractive, she was exceptionally talented, and could sing and dance and act and perform. Belle’s mother became completely involved with the brilliant little girl, determined to nurture and nourish the blessings with which Lucinda had been born, but Lucinda had a dark side, at times almost impossible to control, throwing fierce tantrums, showing no sensitivity towards other people or regard for any kind of authority.

  Belle often felt she was lost between the two; her super smart sister on one side, the gifted, consummate, difficult little diva on the other.