Page 8 of The Billionaire's Beauty

“I’m not drunk,” Bellamy says, catching me by surprise. “I just want you to know that.”

There’s a new note in her voice, something I can’t quite decipher. It seems nervous. Husky. Maybe even a little sultry.

Whatever it is, it makes nerve endings sizzle to life up and down my arms and across my nape. My heart, meanwhile, gallops into overdrive.

“Okay…?”

“I could spend tonight with my friends, but I’m tired of being reliable,” she continues. “I’m tired of not crossing any lines with you.” She hesitates. In the silence, I hear a disbelieving little laugh, and I swear I also hear (feel?) her lick her lips. “I could keep quiet, but I’m really tired of doing the safe thing. And I feel like you should know that the thing I really want for my birthday is you.”

I freeze, my mouth drying out. Not that it matters, because sudden nerves and excitement lock down my throat and make speech impossible anyway.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she says quietly. “But I took a chance. I’m upstairs in room 2810. You could come and stay with me tonight. No questions asked. No regrets. And we never have to say anything else about it either way, so it’s fine if you decide not to.”

I can’t answer in that head-spinning moment. Can’t think. Can’t breathe. I’d have been better prepared if she’d called to tell me that she’s been working undercover with the CIA this whole time.

“Anyway…” Longest pause of the night. “The ball’s in your court, Griffin.”

I’m still reeling from her use of my first name for the first time ever when she hangs up without another word.

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