Page 13 of Filthy Rich

But I didn’t do any of that, did I? Instead, I walked through the sliding glass doors into the airport and immediately felt as though something of immense value had been stolen from me. I felt…loss. And that’s when my voice started up. Don’t let her go. But even then, I could have boarded my flight to Boston and called her when I got back. I had enough information to track her down again.

“Lucien? You there?”

The thing that really sealed it for me was when she came through the sliding glass doors, headed to security with Mrs. Hooper, and kept looking around for me. She never saw me lurking behind my pillar, so I had the pleasure of seeing her expression get sadder and sadder when she didn’t find me.

And I got a savage pleasure out of that, because that’s the kind of bastard I am.

Here’s the thing, and it really is this simple:

I laid eyes on her. I wanted her. I plan to have her. As soon as humanly possible.

“Lucien?” my brother’s voice booms in my ear, startling me out of my thoughts and desires. “You are cracking up, aren’t you?”

“Worry about your own mental health,” I bark. “Mine is fine.”

Or will be. As soon as I work sweet little Tamsyn Scott out of my system.

“You can’t just leave us in the lurch,” Roman says. “We’ve got meetings stacked up back to back. We’ve got?—”

“Try to hear me on this,” I say, running out of patience. “I don’t give a fuck. I’m taking a vacation, which I am entitled to do. I’ll be back in a few weeks. You’ll figure it out until then. In the meantime, just pretend I’m dead.”

“But—”

“This whole mess is your fault, anyway.” I realize I’m getting louder when the nearest salesperson glances my way, brows raised, so I drop my voice again. “If you’d let me take the jet yesterday, none of this would’ve happened.”

“The jet? What are you talking about?”

“Forget it,” I say, hanging up before he asks any more uncomfortable questions.

There. Problem solved.

But it’s true. This whole thing is his fault. I wasn’t even supposed to be at LaGuardia yesterday. I was supposed to be at Teterboro, taking our private jet to the Boston meeting. Then my brother swooped in, decided his Miami meeting was more important and took the jet, leaving me in a mad scramble to get to LaGuardia in time for a commercial flight. And, by the way, forcing me to leave my million-dollar car in the hands of some inept valet in a public garage.

That’s when I saw her. And I wouldn’t take it back.

Even now, I can’t get that first image of her out of my mind. Nor can I explain to myself why she affected me so powerfully in that moment. I’m a guy who has dated beautiful women of all stripes, so the sight of this one woman should not have drawn me for such a loop. She’s medium height. Medium build. Medium-length sandy-brown hair. Brown eyes. She wore a white dress with those blue Chuck Taylors.

Nothing remarkable.

Yet none of that captures the way the light breeze blew her hair across her face, the sunlight catching her curls just right and making a halo of those honeyed strands. The light hit her from behind, making luscious silhouettes of her hips and ass. She’s got toned legs and the kind of breasts that look full and natural rather than artificially perky. Her eyes are luminous, almond shaped and the color of fine scotch whiskey. She’s got a heart-shaped face with fine cheekbones. Glowing skin with just a hint of a summer tan and a sprinkling of freckles. A rosebud mouth that spawned immediate X-rated fantasies and smiles easily and often.

Bottom line?

She’s absolutely fucking stunning. More than that, she’s got…a presence.

I want to bask in it while I can.

Best of all? She’s into cars. Do you know how rare that is? We’re not talking unicorn tears here, but still. You don’t hit on this winning combination every day. So you notice when it happens. I could have let her go and moved on with my day but for her car comments. That’s what sealed her fate. Or should I say my fate?

And when she smiles…

Even now I feel the hot curl of desire deep in my gut.

What can I say? That she’s got white teeth and dimples? That she smiles easily and often? That she brings light and fun with her? Yeah, okay, but why do I feel as though I’ve been yanked behind the navel and tied to her somehow?

I know it’s ridiculous. I know it’s all hormone poisoning, and my dick is now firmly in charge. That’s all it is. I want to fuck her.

Raw, unadulterated lust, pure and simple.

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