Page 27 of The Billionaire's Princess

“Can I come in?” I ask.

She stands aside with a flourish, ushering me inside a great apartment with plenty of light and space. Gourmet kitchen. The works. Exactly what you’d expect, even if it does seem like a lot for one person. But my own apartment is huge, so I can’t talk.

“Nice,” I say, then set my things on the counter and wash my hands before diving into the bags. “I’m making pasta with vodka sauce and salad in case you’re vegetarian. I can add meatballs if you’re not. If you’re vegan, you’re making your own damn dinner. You’re in charge of the salad. I assume you can chop without losing fingers.”

She grabs a knife and a cutting board, brows raised. “I’ll have you know I’m an excellent cook.”

“Yeah?” I eyeball her with new respect. “How’d that happen?”

“Mum wanted to make sure I had one foot in the regular world. She wanted me to be a normal kid who knew what to do without a nanny or a housekeeper fussing over me. I’ve always cooked, cleaned and done my own laundry. My father was baffled by the whole thing, but there you have it.” Her expression turns wistful. “She had the common sense in the family. I miss her.”

I pause, riveted by any detail about her personal life and determined to show her that she can trust me. “When did she die?”

“Couple of years ago. She and Daddy had a terrible divorce that lasted roughly as long as the marriage. In case you’re interested.”

“I am interested.” I pass her the veggies and choose my words carefully, surprised that I’m willing to share these shameful details from my past with anyone, much less share them this early in the relationship. “I know about nasty divorces. My mother walked out when I was ten. When my father went through some financial difficulties and almost lost everything.” I clear my throat, my voice turning husky. “Married my father’s richer best friend. They had a custody war. Then she, ah, died in a car accident before we ever really reconciled.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she says softly. “And your dad?”

Shaky laugh from me. “I’m supposed to be cooking dinner. Not sure why I’m getting into all this with you.”

She regards me with steady warmth, as though she knows exactly how hard this is. “It’s because I’m an incredibly special person. Anyone can see that.”

I sure as fuck can.

“My dad never quite recovered from her walking out. He rebuilt the companies to some extent. Brought me and my brothers in once we got out of school. And then got lung cancer and died before we took things to the next level. Never got to see what my brothers and I could do.”

Sad nod from Carly. “Very inconsiderate of him.”

I snort. “We thought so.”

Another nod as she takes her time about choosing her words. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Yeah, well,” I say gruffly, looking around for a pot, “if you give me half a chance to ruin the evening, I’m going to take it.”

The bright burst of her laughter breaks up the mood as she finds the pot for me and passes it over.

“This date sucks, to be honest. No hair and makeup. No fancy dinner out. I didn’t even get a hello kiss. We should give some thought to calling the whole thing off. You’re a terrible disappointment.”

With that, she turns to a new cabinet and reaches for wineglasses, giving me a stellar view of her toned ass and thighs as she reaches.

I grab my chance. Like Lin-Manuel Miranda says, I’m not throwing away my shot.

Coming up behind her, I lean against her warm body and wrap her up tight, pressing one of my hands on her torso, my thumb resting in the valley between her breasts, and the other low on her belly, my fingertips just grazing her pussy. She shudders and melts into me, exactly the way I’d hoped she would. At this close range, her scent acts as a hyper-charged aphrodisiac, demanding that I press my nose to her curls and try to identify it. There’s a hint of berries. Of lavender. Of something indefinable that’s entirely her.

Since she wants her kiss, I nudge aside enough hair to reach her bare skin and nuzzle my way to where the tender curve of her neck meets her shoulder. I latch on to that sensitive point, licking and nuzzling just enough to make her shiver and coo.

“You’ve got to stop touching me,” she says helplessly. “I can’t fucking think when you do.”

There’s only one sensible response to that.

“Then don’t think.”

I tighten my grip. Revel in this moment, which I consider to be my reward for focusing hard and working my ass off all day to close my latest deal. And I remind myself that we’re getting to know each other tonight, so now is not the time for me to bend her over the counter and take her from behind. Much as I desperately want to. The last thing I want to do is leave her with the impression that all I want is a quick fuck.

This right here? With her?

It’s more. It’s special. It deserves my best shot. Even if it leaves me with a terminal case of blue balls.

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