London Silver Fox Billionaires - Time For Another
You know the score by now, Wednesday is non-fiction day, although there’s a sneaky peek inside a book at the end of this post… and a FR££ download.
I share stories almost every day, and Wednesday has become my day for sharing non-fictional stuff, a promotional piece about my work, books or other content.
It could have a twist and be a confessional story, where you need to decide is it real or not!
I’ll add a link or two at the end of this post for you to recap if you’re new here. Feel free to share!
Think of a fancy office block or two in London, coffee shops, Italian bistros.
My steamy instalove series is set amongst the history, suits and stress of London. Happy endings can happen, even for those lonely grey billionaires, especially when you’re not expecting it.
London Silver Fox Billionaires
The boss is a busy guy. He doesn’t have time to find the love of his life. Sometimes romance comes his way, right when he doesn’t expect it. Of course, it takes a special woman to catch his eye.
Curvy, independent, fearless and happy. If only she could find that one special guy.
One look, and he’s hooked. All he has to do is prove to her he’s the one.
Desired by the Boss
Can a bored but handsome silver fox billionaire find love and passion with a rebellious, tattooed curvy woman who’s not impressed by money or good looks?
Archie
I’ve worked and played hard on my road to success. Now I’ve achieved my goals, I’m bored and, if I’m honest, lonely.
I want a good woman, with curves, and the bravery to challenge me in all I do. Who’s also sizzling hot.
That’s not too much to ask, is it?
Arabella
My corporate career bores me. I’m not bad at it. I just don’t enjoy the hustle.
I much prefer dogs to people, and would love to have a guy I can hold hands with on those long walks.
Oh, and if he’s intelligent, kind and wants to jump in bed when we get home, I’ll take it.
Wanted by the Boss
Can a bored work-obsessed billionaire find love with a rebellious, curvy, book-loving woman half his age?
Baxter
A billionaire boss who has always found his happiness in spreadsheets and investments is realising a busy office is a lonely place to be.
The beautiful but empty home he goes back to after the fancy global travel feels especially empty and quiet. Maybe he needs finally something or someone to light him up again.
Billie
A curvy, independent, book-shop worker, she’s not looking for love. Not unless her hero can live up to those on the pages of her precious books.
When an older, obviously rich guy reaches for her essential, long-awaited drink in her local coffee shop she barges in, as she often does.
Just one problem, it isn’t her drink, and he’s the sexiest guy she’s met all week. No, make that all year.
Craved by the Boss
A sexy billionaire and a curvy sassy secretary with a 1940s vibe overcome the age and power gap to find success and love.
Cooper
A billionaire with a need for an efficient personal assistant.
I never imagined someone like Carmen would come my way.
Big, beautiful and luckily for me, overlooked in previous positions. I just hoped she’d put her trust in me.
Carmen
A lush, curvy, brown woman with a passion for retro fashion. I’m used to being noticed. Not always for the things I’d like.
When I met Cooper, I instantly knew he had my back. I never imagined a sexy billionaire, twice my age, would be someone I could fall for. I just can’t let him distract me from my career.
Will Cooper convince Carmen he wants her to work with him, not for him?
Claimed by the Boss
A billionaire boss has big plans to transform a city park. Just one thing stands in his way, a curvy, stubborn woman half his age. Sparks fly and ignite something neither expected.
Darius
The moment I saw Delilah, I recognised her as the cheeky daughter of my best friend. Her childhood nickname, Dolly. I wondered if she remembered anything about me.
When I saw her unzip her hoody and show me a hint of those curves, all I wanted to do was take her in my arms.
If only she wasn’t so determined to stop my passion project going ahead.
Delilah
Who the heck does that billionaire think he is? Bulldozing my local park. I don’t think so!
I’d fight him all the way, well that was the plan.
Then I met him.
Why did he have to be the dad of my old school friend, the man who gave me lifts home in the rain? And why did he look so damn sexy?
If you didn’t spot it, my naming philsophy is alphabetical. I’ve done something similar with Scarlett, my hotwife and Mrs J my cougar.
Seems to work for me!
It’s about time I added E to the London Silver Fox Billionaire mix, so why not give me some name suggestions?
I’ll send you a free ebook of the final story as a thank you if I use your idea.
(No other credit or reward, other than my gratitdue, sorry!)
The Promised Sneaky Recap…
My Latest Book List - Contemporary Romance Books to Sizzling Adult One Shot Reads
Let’s Talk About Clean Romance v Dirty Smut and Banned Books
Sneaky Peek inside… Claimed by the Boss
The one thing I loved about this building was the park opposite. To discover a developer had bought it and now intended building on it pissed me right off.
When I saw the CEO’s photograph on a flyer inviting me to a community meeting, my heart pounded against my ribs. I knew him.
How did his name not click when I first saw it? His daughter was my bestie at school. Hot damn, what the heck would I do now?
The guy had given me lifts home from school when I was a kid. Taken me to practice when my parents were working. If truth be told, I probably saw him more often than my dad. He was a good bloke.
Why the fuck is he threatening to bulldoze my park?
OK, so it’s not my park, but it’s my little green haven in a city of grey concrete.
I gazed at my laptop, wondering if I should cancel the protest. I studied the proposition for the development and got angry all over again. It was a disgrace.
Kids play in that park. Old guys played chess. They even had a Saturday morning Tai Chi session. I couldn’t let him wipe it off the map. I just couldn’t.
The day of the meeting came around. I stood outside with my sign on a stick. Not a great turnout, snow does that. I’d wrapped up in multiple layers, added scarves, hat, hoods and full-length coat. I stood shivering by the time his car pulled up. A limo, of course. They bundled him from his car to the door double-quick.
I stood and watched. Nipples aching, they were so hard. Not in a good way. I was fucking freezing. As were others who had braved the weather, and he had totally blanked us.
In the previous few days, I’d persuaded a few neighbours and local small business owners to turn up and protest. The door closed, a few of the group apologised and walked away. I didn’t blame them. People have families, lives, jobs, bills to pay. Time spent saving a relatively tiny square of grass isn’t high on the list of survival techniques for single mums and budding entrepreneurs. I had to handle this differently.
Suggesting the others go home, that we’d regroup at another time, somewhere warmer. I contemplated going home myself. To cry into a mug of hot chocolate. Then the door opened.
I stood up, waited for the entourage but just his assistant looked out. My anger flared. He had sent a minion to greet us. He didn’t give a damn. I guessed what he’d say. It would all be spin and misdirection. A tactic, so he could say he’d involved the community in any decision. Waving me in, I glanced around, thinking they must be waving at someone else, but no. Apart from a swirl of snow blowing up in a mini tornado, I was alone.
‘Please. It’s freezing out here. Come in. Let him hear what you have to say.’
The enormous block of flesh and smart black suit masquerading as security barely made eye contact, but fair enough. I struggled to keep my eyes open in the sudden blast of arctic wind and snow, too.
The door shut behind me. Comparative heat threatening to overwhelm me.
I peeled off the various layers. Lay my snow-wet coat over a line of empty chairs. The meeting hadn’t attracted many people. The usual homeless person huddled over a steaming cup of something that almost failed at keeping their eyes open. A couple of bored journalists who no doubt hoped for more conflict. A young woman with an overly expensive, designer style tea-trolley looked like she’d rather be anywhere but there. Her nail varnish more interesting than the event.
They had rigged up a couple of temporary banners up with architect’s drawings of the proposed building.
He sat alone at the table on a small, pretentious stage set up. Suited and booted, he gave off the impression of a professional here to do business. I knew it was just for show. His smart cashmere coat laid over a chair to one side of the stage. No doubt some psychologist consultant had done a survey about the success of height and power. At well over six feet tall, broad shoulders, imposing stature, I doubted he really needed to use a stage. I guessed if he had paid dearly for advice, taking it would make sense.
Another slab of meat, with an earpod worthy of the security services, stood as a protector, ready to scoop up the coat and the man at a moment’s notice.
Why did that idea fill me with fear?
I got an almost overwhelming urge to approach him, but what would I do?
Slap him in the face for daring to destroy my park?
Or hug him and make him feel less alone?
I sunk into my chair as I realised I was being drawn to him by a much stronger emotion. Lust.
Fuck. I hadn’t seen it coming.
I flushed from head to toe as desire swept through me like a burning heat. I wanted to blame it on the hot tea. Not that I’d even sipped from the plastic cup someone had stuffed into my almost frozen fist.
He’s a good-looking guy. I mean gorgeous. A beautiful silver fox. His previously almost black hair now an almost silver grey, still worn in the same style. A little shorter. That one lock of hair that rebelled still tempted me to brush it from his brow.
He glanced up and made eye contact. So very familiar. Reassuring.
Did he know me?
I’d been ready to stand up, shout him down, shame him.
After the lust and the embarrassment, another emotion raged through my bones. Guilt.
I’d designed, printed and even hand delivered flyers to ask the community to join me at this protest gathering.
How could I expect others to join me when I lusted after the guy who held our precious park in his hands?
I felt the flush of heat reach my cheeks. I swear my winter-warm underwear was damp at the mere sight of him.
I smiled and nodded. So much for anger and vitriol.
He had instantly made me feel like that blushing but cheeky teenager he once knew. No longer the professional woman I had become.
I wondered if he wore that same brand of citrus cologne he wore back in the day. When I sat next to him in the car and he leant across me to open the door. Never touching, always the gentleman. The caring father, the…
Damn!
I had to focus. I bit the inside of my mouth, almost brought tears to my eyes in a pathetic attempt to focus back on task. Keeping my park, my precious green space.
Focus!
I blinked back tears, sat up in my seat, looked him directly in the eyes. Those gorgeous pools of grey with a flash of blue. Refusing to be fooled by the long dark lashes, the lush lips, the deep cupid or hint of designer stubble on his chiselled jawline.
What even is a chiselled jawline, for fuck’s sake!
He shuffled in his seat. Loosened his tie just a little. I liked to think I caused his discomfort, the sudden heat under his collar.
My nipples ached all the more inside my hoodie. I could hardly blame the snow in the overheated office space. With no air. Claustrophobia took my breath away. Heat that forced me to take a deep breath, to avoid a dizzy spell.
Suddenly I felt very overdressed, and hot.
I peeled off my sleeves, exposing another hoodie.
What can I say? It’s winter, it’s cold out.
My jeans tucked into boots seemed to grow tighter around my butt. The seam pressing uncomfortably between my legs. I couldn’t adjust them.
I blamed the denim for making me feel horny.
Just the wrong choice of clothes, not the beautiful grey-eyed man gazing at me with a half smile as I shuffled, dropped my hat. Comedically or tragically, I almost knocked myself out on a chair back as I bent to pick up a glove.
He sat back, nodded at the aisle. My other glove lay halfway between me and the door. Abandoned, alone, I didn’t trust my legs to hold me if I went to retrieve it.
Last layer peeled off. My arms exposed in my cotton shirt. An old favourite. Pulled in at the waist, button front in a v that showed more than a hint of my generous cleavage.
I’d often got compliments wearing it, but in his company, his groomed cashmere, silk and gold company, it felt shabby and dated.
I watched him move in a hypnotic slow-motion.
He stood, stepped off the stage, and walked towards me.