Page 2 of The Billionaire's Beauty

“Hard to say,” I say, shrugging. “Will that be a problem?”

To her credit, she manages a smile. A crooked smile, but still credible.

“Not at all,” she says, glancing around just as a nearby couple get up and leave their table. “Why don’t I just sit over there, since there’s no room at this table? Damon. Ryker. Hope you two have a great night.”

“Hope you get to enjoy what’s left of your birthday, Bellamy,” Ryker says.

“Don’t let him give you too much shit, Bellamy,” Damon tells her.

“Don’t worry,” she says, laughing. “I’ve got this.”

With that, she turns to go while also unwrapping that blue shawl and giving me a spectacular and mouth-watering view of the body she normally keeps tucked inside her business attire. Tonight? It’s poured into a little black dress with heavy emphasis on little. It’s got no sleeves. No nothing other than a stretchy tube that bares a fair amount of cleavage before clinging to her hips and ass and trailing off well before it hits her knees. But before I can lament the fact that I can’t see much of her legs, she takes another step, revealing a slit and a juicy stretch of thigh.

The sort of thigh a man wants wrapped around his waist when he’s buried deep inside a gorgeous woman.

I’m not shitting you when I say that the sight of that glowing skin, shifting hair and insane figure is like a lightning strike to my entire existence.

My head commands me not to do anything stupid. My dick commands me to fuck her as soon as possible. Something deep inside me—trapped somewhere between my chest and my gut—wonders what the fuck is happening to my world tonight.

My turmoil is intensified when she glances back over her shoulder and gives me just enough of a lingering look for me to wonder if she wants me to come hither.

Or maybe that’s just my runaway hormones projecting things onto her.

Doesn’t matter. I’m already on my feet, determined to follow her like a heat-seeking missile.

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