Synonym Of Frigid

One night of boldness leads to a marriage of convenience. Just a plain agreement. No commitment but a lot of sex. She is liking the setup until the 'right one' came back. Without a fuss, she left, bringing the memories and another heartbeat. ********** Dumped by her two-year relationship for the reason of her being prude and frigid, Alexzia Montes proves she was otherwise. With four glasses of wine in her system, she delved into a passionate night with a stranger she randomly picked. "Do I need to pay you? How much?" she outrightly asked. "Can you afford me?" he snickers. "Just tell me how much" she stubbornly retorted. She is getting pissed by his arrogance. "500 billion dollars" he briefly replies with raised challenging brows. "What?" she mumbles in disbelief. "My present net worth is more or less 500 billion dollars" he unconcernedly replied. Stunned, she becomes quiet. "That's why you look familiar..." she frustratedly whispers, facepalming herself. The man she often sees on tv and in newspapers but hasn't met in person. The only person in the country who has a five hundred billion net worth. "CEO Lucien Wright..." she whispers in despair, almost indistinct. Of all people, she had chosen the cold and ruthless CEO of Wright Group of Companies. How could she afford him? He could even buy her, body and soul. "I need a wife, a bait for my girlfriend to come back. Name your price" he casually announced, handing her the documents. "Once she is back, you will sign the divorce paper and peacefully leave. I will pay you, just name the amount" he added. The offer is tempting Alexzia. She needs ten million dollars and it's an impossible plight but she has an easy way out, being a Ten Million Dollar Wife to CEO Wright.

She hides behind ugly suits and fake names. He's done trusting women. When they meet in a masked sex club, neither realizes they've been fighting each other across boardroom tables for eighteen months. At Taylor Industries, she's Joy Smith—the frumpy CFO who drowns her curves in shapeless polyester and wearing a wig. At home, she's the forgotten wife of a cheating lawyer who hasn't touched her in so long she's starting to wonder if she's broken. When she finds hot pink lace panties stuffed in her couch cushions...definitely not hers, it's not heartbreak she feels. It's freedom. Grayson Taylor doesn't do relationships anymore. Not after walking in on his actress fiancée with another woman. Now he channels everything into hostile takeovers and board meetings, especially the ones where his overcautious CFO fights him on every goddamn acquisition. Joy Smith is brilliant, infuriating, and funny when he pushes all her buttons. But Honey is tired of being invisible. Tired of never having felt real pleasure. So, when her best friend gives her the details of The Velvet Room—Manhattan's most exclusive masked club—she promises herself just one night. One night to find out if her husband's right, if she really is frigid, or if she's just never been touched by the right hands. She doesn't expect the masked stranger who claims her the second she walks in. Doesn't expect the chemistry that ignites between them, the way he makes her body sing, or the orgasms that leave her shaking. Doesn't expect him to hand her an email address with one command: "Only me. No one else touches you."