Page 5 of Dedicated Billionaire

Holy fuck, am I checking her out? Yes. Yes, I am. And not just checking her out but having thoughts about her that would get my ass kicked if they ever came to light. She’s always been pretty, in an elfin kind of way, but it was always just a fact that existed. Not something that had me twisting in my seat for a better view. Definitely not something that had the front of my pants tightening as I imagined all sorts of different scenarios I wouldn’t mind playing out.

If only it weren’t for the ass kicking. I mean, I’d deserve it. And at the moment it almost feels worth it.

I realize with a pang that she’s no longer that little pipsqueak I loved riling up. Carly has become a very attractive, driven woman. Her passion no longer seems cute, but something to truly be admired. According to Matt, the internship she got was applied for by thousands of students every year. Of coursethey’d give it to her. She’s always been an amazing artist. Even now, when I look at her hands, there’s a slight smudge of blue and green paint around her cuticles.

As we pick up speed on the runway, those hands grip together in her lap. A nervous flush creeps up her chest, that I still shouldn’t be checking out, and the purse of her lush lips shows that she’s obviously nervous.

That’s right. She’s starting to freak out while pretending not to. It was one of the things Matt and I used to use against her, back when we were total asshole teenagers.

“You doing okay?” I ask, since we’re about to leave the ground at any moment.

“Of course,” she says stiffly, putting on a strong front and giving me a forced smile.

I go along with it, but hop over to her side, switching to the seat next to her. I take out my phone and pull up the notes from the last strategy meeting about how to further promote my team.

“Check this out,” I say, holding the mock ups of our new t-shirt designs. “I think they’re pretty lame, but everyone says they’re perfect. Tell me what you think and don’t hold back.”

She swallows hard and focuses on the images, finally taking my phone in a trembling hand so she can make them larger.

“This first one’s not too bad, but why are they so generic looking?”

She continues giving me her brutal opinion on the new designs, really tearing them to shreds. I agree with everything she says to keep her talking.

My bid to distract her and take her mind off her nerves seems to be working. But now I’m close enough to smell her shampoo. Strawberries and cream, so delicious I lean closer to breathe her in. Okay, she smells good enough to eat, so what? And her first genuine smile when I get up to retrieve hersketchbook from her bag has me sitting next to her again instead of moving back across the aisle.

It’s only because she wants to show me how she’d redo the new designs if she was in charge. Her nerves are completely gone, and she seems to be having a genuinely good time, until we hit a patch of turbulence and she drops her sketches and pencil to grip the sides of her seat.

Her arm brushes mine, sending a bizarre shock through me. Her eyes are no longer dancing with fun but squeezed shut as we bounce in the air like a toy mouse getting batted around by a hyper kitten. I put my hand lightly over hers and she’s so scared she doesn’t jerk it away.

The urge to pull her into my arms becomes so strong it’s almost urgent. It’d be much easier to resist if I moved to another seat, but there’s no way I can abandon her now, when she’s so anxious she’s shaking. I have to stay close to comfort her, even though her proximity has slowly been driving me wild for the duration of the flight. It’s the warmth of her skin, her intoxicating fragrance, the musical quality of her voice. That perfect smile that felt better than when my team made it to the Superbowl. Something’s changed about my feelings for Carly. Something serious.

I realize I just might be fucked. So much for a relaxing vacation.

Chapter 3

Carly

I’ve never been as happy as when my feet touched solid ground again, no matter that rain was thrashing down on us. I can finally breathe and let my muscles relax as I put my face up to the cool drops. No more bracing for impact, no more waiting for the inevitable crash.

I can’t stand flying on big, safe jumbo jets. Little private planes are even worse. No matter how many times I’m faced with statistics about it being completely safe, the feeling of the earth dropping out from under me makes my brain go into lizard mode.

Of course it was made all the worse by it being Braden’s plane, with Braden himself only a couple feet away. He was the last person I’d ever want to witness me cling to the arm of the seat for survival, all while trying not to puke. That’s ripe teasing territory for a guy like him, and I braced myself to hear him get started.

And then he didn’t. Even now as we’re rushing toward his waiting car, he’s still being remarkably sweet, holding an umbrella up for both of us. He’s laughing at the storm, and it reminds me how he burst out laughing when I ripped into his design company’s awful new logos for his football team’s merchandise.

He didn’t take offense or act like I didn’t know anything since I was still just a student. He seemed to like my ideas. Andhe never once held my obvious terror over my head or let a word of teasing slip out. Not even an eye roll.

In fact, he did a pretty heroic job of distracting me from every little bump and wobble of the plane when the storm started catching up to us. He wasn’t weird about it, but it was easy to see he moved next to me for that reason. If I’d have been in a better frame of mind I would have told him to get back to his own side of the aisle.

Instead, I was grateful to get my mind off the fact we were forty thousand feet above the ground in little more than a tin can. And I kind of liked spending that time with him.

Am I looking forward to spending more time with him at the resort?

What? No. The very idea of it is shocking.

We make it to the car, half soaked, and he holds the door for me. I expect him to abandon me back there and ride up front with the driver, but he slides in next to me, shaking drops from his hair, made darker and wavier by the rain.

“We made it,” he says. “Let’s hope the whole mountain’s not washed out.”

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