The Billionaire's Secret Paper Wife

The night air outside The Plaza Hotel is sharp, but it does nothing to cool the sudden, frantic beating of Chantal's heart. She stands at the edge of the red carpet, pulling her black coat tighter around her shoulders. She scans the crowd of wealthy socialites and businessmen, looking for Dell. Suddenly, a large, heavy hand clamps down on her waist. Chantal gasps, her entire body flinching. She whips her head around and crashes straight into Dell's solid chest. He is wearing a custom tuxedo that makes him look devastatingly dangerous. His dark eyes lock onto hers, burning with an intensity she hasn't seen in weeks. He leans down, his mouth hovering just an inch from her ear. "Relax your shoulders," Dell orders, his voice a low, rough whisper. Chantal's body goes completely rigid. She hates the feeling of his hand on her waist. She hates the sudden heat radiating from his body. She places her hands on his chest, trying to push him away. Dell's arm tightens like a steel band. He jerks her flush against his body, eliminating every millimeter of space between them. "Smile," he growls against her ear. "Unless you want to breach the contract." Chantal's jaw clenches so hard her teeth ache. She forces the corners of her mouth up into a rigid, fake smile and tilts her head to look at him. At that exact second, from the dark shadows across the street, three rapid, faint flashes of light go off. Dell's eyes flick toward the flashes. A dark, satisfied gleam appears in his eyes. He keeps his arm firmly locked around her waist and guides her toward the golden doors of the hotel. As they walk, the high slit of the red dress falls open, exposing her bare leg to the freezing air and the stares of the men around them. Dell notices the stares. His jaw ticks. He subtly shifts his body, blocking her from the view of the other guests. They step into the massive, glittering lobby. The heat hits them instantly. Chantal shrugs off her heavy black coat. The dress dips low in the back, exposing the smooth skin of her spine. Dell's eyes drop to her bare back. He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He quickly takes the coat and hands it to the coat check attendant. He places his hand on the bare skin of her lower back. His touch is scorching hot. He guides her to the VIP elevator. The doors slide shut, sealing them in a small, enclosed space. Chantal takes a breath, and her lungs fill with the scent of his cologne. Cedarwood, dark tobacco, and something uniquely him. The scent hits her brain like a physical blow. Her vision blurs. The memory flash from weeks ago hits her again, but this time it is violent and vivid. The smell of that exact cologne mixed with sweat. The feeling of heavy hands pinning her down. The darkness. Her chest heaves. She feels like she is suffocating. She presses her back against the elevator wall, her fingers digging into the brass railing. "What is wrong with you?" Dell asks, his voice sharp, noticing her sudden panic. Chantal shakes her head violently, forcing the memory back into the dark corners of her mind. She pinches her palm until the pain grounds her. "Nothing," she snaps, her voice trembling slightly. The elevator dings. The doors open to the penthouse VIP floor. Dell's expression hardens back into a mask of corporate ruthlessness. "We are meeting important people," Dell says, his voice cold. "Smile. Act like you belong to me." "As you wish, boss," Chantal spits back, the venom in her voice clear. Dell's lips twitch into a dark smirk. He offers her his arm. Chantal takes a deep breath, wraps her hand around his bicep, and walks toward the heavy oak doors at the end of the hall.