Page 3 of The Billionaire's Princess

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Damon

A pregnant beat passes.I raise my brow at her, proud of my one-upsmanship, but she recovers quickly. The glimmer of mischief in her expression warns me that my triumph will be short-lived.

“About bloody time, Ruprecht darling,” she says smoothly. “You know I’ve been worried about your proctology exam this afternoon. I do hope your bottom will be okay.”

I choke back a startled bark of laughter. A ringing relative silence follows. I’m not sure which one of us is more horrified, me or Shiny Suit. The guy actually backs up half a step, as though he expects some flesh-eating germ to leap from my ass to his and wants to maintain a minimum safe distance.

She stares up at me, those clever eyes gleaming with an unmistakable gotcha.

I award her several more points before reminding myself that two can play this game.

I hadn’t planned to touch her—not yet—but plans change. So I bend and give her a lingering kiss by her ear, savoring both the subtle hitch in her breath and the scent of lavender that clings to her warm skin.

“The only thing I love more than a challenge is a wicked sense of humor,” I murmur.

Maybe I’m imagining things, but I detect a tiny feminine hum of pleasure at my touch.

“Don’t worry,” I say in my regular voice for the benefit of our audience as I pull back. “All of my private parts are in excellent working condition. You’ll see later. Make a new friend?”

She sends me a subtle narrowed dagger of a look before focusing on Shiny Suit.

“Not really. Some men see a woman alone at a bar whilst waiting for friends and act as though they’re in the buffet line at some horrible cafeteria. You know the type of awful man I’m talking about, don’t you, darling?” A pointed look in my direction. “Anyway, this stranger was just leaving. Because I don’t pick up strange men in bars.”

“Ah,” I say, shaking the startled man’s hand and putting a hand on his shoulder to steer him out of the way as I ease into the banquette opposite her. “You can’t blame a man for trying. Have a good night, buddy.”

“I’ll do that,” the man says sourly, now holding his hand out as though it’s been dipped in warm elephant shit.

“Oh, don’t worry,” I say brightly. “It’s not contagious.”

The man walks off, muttering darkly and shaking his head. Leaving me alone with a flinty-eyed female who evidently doesn’t appreciate my humor.

“I thought he’d never leave,” I say. “And couldn’t you give me a better name than Ruprecht?”

“Why on earth would your name matter when you’re about to go back to your own table?”

Something about the throaty voice, upper-class British accent and withering disdain coming from that mouth drives me absolutely freaking insane.

I put a hand over my heart and try to look wounded.

“This is my reward for rescuing you just now? Not very friendly, is it?”

“The word friendly has never once been used to describe me. I’m happy to buy you a thank-you drink. Once you fuck off to your own table.”

I laugh. I can’t help it.

“I’m glad I made the walk over here. This will be more fun than I thought.”

She frowns. “What will?”

“Warming you up,” I say, staring her in the face.

Vivid color stains her cheeks. “I do not need warming up.”

“I disagree,” I say with an easy shrug. “I’ve lost three toes to frostbite since I walked over here.”

“Then by all means,” she says, her expression stony. “Walk back before you lose the rest. If I’d wanted to be bothered, I’d have sat at the bar. I repeat: fuck. Off.”

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