Cain, page 1
Cain
Will this business proposition turn into something more?
A sexy arranged marriage romance by Katie Dowe of BWWM Club.
Morgan Whitfield is a revered socialite whose family is now broke thanks to her father’s spending before his death.
Her mother wants her to marry for money, but Morgan is content on being a museum curator and making it on her own.
Billionaire Cain McBride came from nothing, yet even though he’s amassed a fortune he’s still not accepted in high society.
So his PR teams comes up with the perfect solution: marry socialite Morgan and they’ll both benefit from fame and money!
After some reluctance, Morgan agrees to marry the handsome billionaire, but refuses to fall in love with him…
But as their ruse continues, a spark of passion rises in them both.
And the way they see each other begins to change…
But will Morgan allow herself to fall in love with Cain?
Or will she close off her heart for the sake of her independence?
Find out in this emotional yet sexy romance by Katie Dowe of BWWM Club.
Suitable for over 18s only due to shocking hot sex scenes!
Tip: Search BWWM Club on Amazon to see more of our great books.
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Copyright © 2019 to Katie Dowe and AfroRomanceBooks.com. No part of this book can be copied or distributed without written permission from the above copyright holders.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
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Chapter 1
“Morgan! You're finally here!” Millicent Whitfield gestured for her daughter to follow her into the elegant, if somewhat shabby, living room of the sprawling ranch-type house that had been in their family for generations. It wasn't prudent for her mother to continue living there and the upkeep was exorbitant, but Millicent Whitfield was an aristocrat and she didn't know how to be anything other than one. So, she depended on the trust that had been set up years ago and was slowly depleting. Morgan had made many attempts to bring her to her senses to no avail.
“I'm here Mother, what’s the emergency?” Morgan shook her head as the beleaguered maid came forward to ask about refreshments. She'd just come from a rather trying day at the shop and wasn't in the mood for her mother’s histrionics. She would much prefer to go to her tiny apartment, soak in her bath and drink half a bottle of Chardonnay to release the tenseness and stress of the day she'd had. But she'd never been able to say no to the tall, beautiful woman who looked ten years younger than her fifty-six years.
“The dinner party is tomorrow, darling, and I'm not getting anywhere with the caterers. I'm thinking of hiring someone else. What about that little friend of yours?” Millicent inspected the rose damask curtain at the window, her dark brown eyes sharp as she looked for dust.
“You mean Salome?” Morgan asked dryly as she took her seat on one of the overstuffed chairs in the room.
“Yes!” she responded, throwing up her hands. “I'm going to have a word with Marcia about those employees of hers. I've been a customer of theirs for over ten years, and to think that they're treating me like this!”
“Mother when was the last time you settled a bill with them?”
“Has she said something to you?” Millicent descended on her like a predator, her expression sharp. “She had no right! That woman doesn't have one ounce of class in that large-boned body of hers.”
“She hasn't said anything to me Mother, you just confirmed that you owe them money,” Morgan stifled the sigh. “Is this dinner party really necessary?”
Millicent looked at her only child in horror. “Are you out of your mind? It's the annual dinner for women in crisis, women who have been abused and neglected by their own family. I've been in charge of that particular charity for the past ten years and I am not going to shelf my responsibility, Morgan Antoinette Whitfield! And I'm disappointed that you would suggest that I do so.”
Morgan only just managed not to point out to her that she could no longer afford to do so. “I've been telling you to get more people involved to help you with the planning.”
“I have an adequate staff to help me and if my only child would only contribute more of her time—”
“I happen to work for a living Mother,” Morgan reminded her dryly.
“And it's something you do because of your determination to bring shame to the family! You're the only Whitfield woman who has ever resorted to such an undignified thing as working for a living.” Millicent threw up her hands in despair. “You should be married to a suitable man by now and bearing his children. You are twenty-eight years old darling, and when I was your age I was already married and had you. I stood by your father’s side at the functions we were honor bound to attend. I was the perfect hostess and was there when he came home from the office, to cater to him and see to his needs.”
Morgan kept her expression carefully bland as she sat there and listened. It was the same argument over and over again and she'd gotten used to it. At first, she'd argued and declared that this was the twenty-first century, a new era where women were no longer content with just being wife and mother but much preferred to make strides on their own. The first time she'd said that to her mother, Millicent hadn't spoken to her for a week. Now she kept her opinions to herself and was determined not to get into an argument that she was bound to lose. She loved her antique store and found solace in doing what she loved. Henry Whitfield had been far from a perfect husband and father and had been the one to deplete the family fortune with his numerous bad investments and the many women he'd kept on the side. Morgan didn't bother to remind her mother of that either. Millicent Whitfield lived in a bubble; she preferred to block out the bad things and concentrate on the good things. Morgan supposed that was the only way she could cope with what she obviously knew her husband had been up to before his death by a brain tumor five years earlier.
“I'll get Salome on the phone right away. I'm sure she'll be able to accommodate you even at such short notice,” Morgan said quietly as she got to her feet with the intention of leaving.
Millicent walked over and pulled her daughter in for a hug. “Thank you, darling,” she gushed. Stepping back she eyed Morgan critically. “That dress, darling.” She left the sentence unfinished as she stared at the neat floral print Morgan had worn to the store that day. “And boots in spring?”
“I like the way I look, Mother,” Morgan told her with a firm expression on her face.
“Of course, darling,” Millicent said smoothly. “You'll be here for the dinner, won’t you?”
“I have to go out of town tomorrow, but I'll try and make it.”
“I really want you to be there, darling. It would mean so much to me.”
Morgan nodded and made her way out, reaching for her phone as she got to the front door. She accepted her light jacket from the maid with a smile just as Salome answered the phone. “I need a favor.”
***
“I'm not going to rise to the bait and respond to that rather crass statement made in the papers by that damned reporter!” Cain McBride snapped, his amber eyes flashing as he stared at his public relations manager. “You're in the business of making the company—as well as myself—look good, so do your damned job!’
Sheila Pearson had long since learned not to allow anything the belligerent self-made multi-billionaire said dent her usual serene personality. She'd been dealing with Cain since she came to work with him five years ago, when his rapid rise to being one of the richest millennials in the world had been realized. The fascination with the tall, ruggedly handsome man with the dark brown hair, threaded heavily with blonde, had reached its peak because of the fact that he'd clawed his way from the worst neighborhood downtown to become one of the most accurate investors. But no matter that he contributed heavily to charity, had been accepted into the exclusive Elite Club and now rubbed shoulders with the rich and famous, the boy from the wrong side of the neighborhood still clung to him and the the papers alluded to that.
“I've been telling you for the past six months what you need to do Cain, and you're not listening. How do you expect me to do my job if you won’t allow me to?”
He stared at her, his amber eyes piercing her very soul. Cain McBride was considered to be a ruthless businessman who swooped in when a company was ailing to take it over, doing whatever necessary to make it productive again, no matter the cost. He'd accumulated a number of corporate enemies along the way, not that it seemed to matter to him. “You want me to marry some damned socialite with not an ounce of brain in her head so that my image can improve?”
“There are a number of intelligent ones as well,” Sheila said half-jokingly, grimacing at the cold stare she got from the man seated at the baronial desk. “I have names of a number of them—”
“Save it!” Cain interrupted rudely, looking up as his secretary came inside the office after a discreet knock on the open door.
Sheila got up, realizing that her time with him was up and they hadn't gotten anywhere. “Try and talk to him,” Sheila muttered to the professionally dressed woman in an undertone.
“I doubt that I'll get anywhere,” Madelyn Simmons said dryly as she stepped further inside the office.
***
“What do you have?” Cain asked abruptly as the woman took her seat and touched the device in her hands.
“A meeting with the city council on the acquisition of the old monastery. You also have a luncheon with the Mayor and several other city officials. The presidential candidate would like to have dinner with you to share his views on the changes he intends to make when he becomes the next president.”
Cain’s eyebrows rose in amusement. “He's that confident on winning the election.”
“With your very generous contribution, he has every confidence that he will win,” Madelyn told him. “Imagine, a President owing you a favor!”
Cain leaned back in his chair, he remembered years gone by when these same people wouldn't even have given him a second look, but now they were almost bowing to him and embracing him. But even though they appeared to have accepted him in their exalted circle, he was still an outsider to them and that could never change... unless he became one of them. Normally he wouldn't give a damn about what people thought, but his company—McBride’s Investments—was taking a beating in the press as he was referred to a barbarian wearing a seven-thousand-dollar suit. He was ruthless and dogged when it came to getting what he wanted and his tactics of acquiring failing companies hadn't endeared him to them. He knew he was going to have to do something about it, even though he'd shut Sheila down when she'd made the suggestion. He didn't want to get married, at least not now. And certainly not to some greedy, grasping, empty-headed socialite who would take his hard-earned money and spend it frivolously on shopping for things they already owned. Naturally he would insist on a prenuptial agreement and he had the sharpest and slickest lawyers in town to make sure it was air tight.
“Cain?”
He shook his head and brought himself back to the matter at hand. He didn't have to think about that now.
***
Morgan let herself inside her apartment and went straight into her kitchen to pour herself a much-needed glass of wine, taking it with her—along with the bottle—into her bedroom. She put the glass and bottle on a table near the sofa and tugged off her boots and then her stockings before reaching for the glass. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes wearily. Sometimes she tried her best not to remember that she was a Whitfield. The name carried a lot of burdens, and the responsibilities often took their toll. She'd have people coming into the store that she'd built from the ground up and commiserating the fact that she now had to work for a living. Her so-called friends—the same ones she'd grown up and gone to college with—had all but dropped her, with subtle excuses of her being too busy to attend the various functions they attended.
But she didn't miss it. She'd never liked the emptiness of the dazzling parties and dressing up in clothes and accessories just to try and outdo one another. The gossip and malice of people who claimed to be civilized and who were in reality very unhappy in spite of having so much money. The only female friend she had now was Salome, who had a catering business that was doing very well. They'd met a few years ago when Slamone come to make a purchase in her store and had asked her for help. She had, of course, known who Morgan was but never commented on it. Salome was her opposite in every way. Morgan had innate breeding that was betrayed by her soft cultured voice. Salome had come from a single parent family and had formed her catering company through sheer will and determination to make it what it was today. She'd taken a liking to Morgan and they'd become very good friends. She'd told Morgan that thing she liked about her was the fact that she wasn't a stuck-up bitch like most of the rich people she had to deal with, and Morgan had looked at her in shock and then laughed! Salome said what was on her mind and never apologized for it.
Morgan curled her feet beneath her and sipped the wine. She remembered her past and the whirls of parties, her debutante ball, the extravagant birthday parties that her mother had insisted on throwing her and the careful selection of friends she'd been allowed to have. She'd been told over and over again that she was a Whitfield, and as such she shouldn't mingle with just anyone. She hadn't gone to a private high school,much to her mother’s distress and to Morgan’s delight, because her father had gotten the idea in his head that it didn't look good that she wasn't mingling with the locals. She had in fact enjoyed the experience and had thought it the most wonderful in her life, being able to be normal for the time while she was there. Her mind drifted to Marcel, a lawyer she'd started seeing recently and her smooth brows furrowed as she wondered if the relationship was worth taking the next step. He was a nice enough guy who'd made a success of his law firm but sexually he did nothing for her. He was also too enamored by her social standings, which was a big turn off as far as she was concerned. She'd been thinking about ending things and she might very well do so.
***
Shelly eyed the naked, muscled body at the foot of the bed, her skin heating up as she looked at the impressive physique. Cain McBride might be new money, but she didn't care. And the way he made her feel in bed was something that she didn't want to lose. She watched as he pulled on his pants and left them unbuttoned to grab his shirt. He didn't have much of a conversation with her and he never spent the night, which was very vexing to her. She wanted more than sex with him, but he gave no indication that he wanted more.
“Will I see you tomorrow?” she asked him huskily as he buttoned his shirt.
He looked over at her with a slight frown and Shelly had the awful feeling that he'd forgotten that she was there.” No,” he said briefly without embellishing.
She hated the fact that he never gave away a lot, not even when he was inside her. “I have this dinner party tomorrow and was hoping you would accompany me.”
“I'm afraid I won’t be able to do that.” He looped the tie around his neck and picked up his suit jacket. His amber eyes passed over her lush curves and without a change of expression on his hard face he shrugged into the jacket. “I'll give you a call.”
Shelly watched him stride out of her bedroom and knew that she would be waiting on the call, which might not come until maybe a week later. She kept herself available for him even though she knew that he just used her to appease his sexual appetite and nothing more. She was hoping that things would change.
***
Cain nodded to the guard at his apartment building as the man ran to hold the doors open for him. He was handed a number of messages from another man seated around the desk before he made his way to the private elevator that would take him up to the penthouse suite which comprised of five bedrooms, four baths, a kitchen, dining room, living room and a terrace with a spectacular view of the city lights.
Once inside his penthouse he strode over to the living room, appreciating the thick rust-colored carpeting that matched the décor of the room, and went to touch the button in the corner of the wall and waited until the mini bar came into view. He selected a bottle of whiskey and poured some into a flat glass, taking it with him to one of the deep-cushioned tan sofas in front of the large fireplace. Toeing off his expensive Italian leather shoes he leaned back and sipped the drink, closing his eyes as the smooth liquid slid down his throat. He sat forward and absently rolled the glass between his hands. He hadn't called his mother today, which wasn't usual for him.
Caitlin McBride had fought for them both after she'd lost her husband to gang violence in the crappy neighborhood they'd lived in. She'd worked three jobs just to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. It hadn't been easy but they'd survived because she'd made sure that they did. She was determined and always told him that if he put his mind to being successful, he would be. She'd also told him that the minute he took up with a gang, she would make sure he spent days in the hospital from the bodily harm she would do him—and he'd believed her!
