Page 9 of Billionaire Devil

I don’t want to sound dramatic here, but with the backdrop of the red sky and the setting sun dipping into the sea, leaking its liquid fire all over the surface of the water, painting her skin, her hair and her face with its golden effect, she looks like some kind of otherworldly fire-lit angel. Her face is insanely beautiful. Her eyes are silver, catching the reflected glow of the sun like bottled lightning, rimmed by sweeping lashes. She’s petite and fine-boned and, in contrast, her lips are almost ridiculously full and lush. Something about the bee-stung plushness and the perfect pink of them reaches into me and grips both my heart and my cock like tight fists.

Fuck.

She notices me and she blinks up at me, her silver eyes widening a fraction.

I can honestly say I have never been so mesmerized in my life. Her dark, gold-lit hair frames her face, with thosecurls of the shorter layers adding a playful softness and the longer strands hanging to frame her breasts, which are high and full with the faint outline of her nipples barely showing through the fabric of her dress.

Fuck me.

I notice again the style of her outfit. I happen to personally know many of New York’s top fashion designers and I get a lot of invitations to their shows, to liven up the front row. I don’t pay attention enough to know who this designer might be, but it doesn’t look familiar. It looks new and cutting edge, with details of pale suede and off-white fur. Even I can tell that it’s well-made in that way that well-designed clothes should be: they make the person wearing them look fucking amazing.

This girl would look gorgeous in a paper bag, but the dress takes her beauty to a whole different level. She’s hot and sexy and naturally glamorous, like she wakes up looking like this.

“Don’t you dare look at my bestie that way, Colton Maddox,” I hear Sloane scold me through my dazed infatuation. “You can’t have her.”

We’ll see about that.

I feel strangely starstruck and drunk on the vision of her.

How can anyone be this fucking beautiful?

“Lila, meet my devastatingly handsome but completely insufferable boss, Colton Maddox.”

So her name isLila.

“Don’t believe a word she says. I’m not insufferable at all.”

“Really,” Lila says softly, like she doesn’t believe me.

“Colton, meet Lila Bailey, my gorgeous, talented and exceptionally off-limits best friend.”

“Lila, the pleasure’s mine.” I take her hand carefully, leaning to kiss her cheek because I can’t resist. Her skin is cool and silky-smooth. The scent of her hair, all floral spice and lemony freshness, is so mind-numbingly appealing it makes me dizzy. I have a savage urge to wind the long strands around my fist and tilt her head back so she’s fully under my power before tasting her insanely inviting mouth.

“Nice to meet you, Colton.” Lila smiles, pulling her hand from mine.

For a second I’m speechless—and this might be a first—by the sweetness of her smile and her neat white teeth, but there’s something reserved and knowing behind her eyes. Sloane, no doubt, has warned her about me. If she’s Sloane’s “bestie,” Sloane probably gushes every chance she gets about how terrible I am, how I leave a trail of broken-hearted women in my wake wherever I go.

Even if Lila is as intrigued as I am, her eyes lingering on my face, my chest, and lower—as she’s biologically hard-wired to do—she’s already made up her mind about me. “Sloane’s told me a lot about you.” There’s a pause before she says it. “All good, of course.”

“Of course.” I slide a look at Sloane, who gives me an overly sweet smile. I can’t stop my assistant from gossipingabout my night life, and it never bothered me before, but right now I find myself regretting that she knows every damn thing about me.

Damn it, Sloane.

I immediately get the impression that Lila is inexperienced. And a little bit world-weary, like she’s been burning the candle at both ends for too long. Not unusual in New York, of course, but I don’t like that she has the faintest bruise-like shadows under her silver eyes.

Is she okay? Is she working too hard? Does she have anyone to take care of her?

It’s an unfamiliar feeling. To not just care about these details, but to feel the concern leeching deep into psychic fresh dirt, taking on a manic edge.

“Beautiful night for it,” Sloane comments.

“Yes,” I agree. “The perfect night to celebrate our success.” I top up both their glasses and my own, clinking my flute against Sloane’s, then Lila’s, grinning at the stunning little minx, because I can’tnotgrin at her. She’s so fucking gorgeous, her beauty is somehow making me feel like I just won one of life’s holy jackpots.

“Okay, one more drink, but that’s it,” Lila says. “I’ve got a long drive tomorrow.”

“Where to?”

“My friend’s getting married in L.A. next weekend. It’s going to take me all week to get there.”

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