Page 20 of Billionaire Devil

“Easy there.” I try to ignore the warmth that floods my entire body—especially one very hot thick and overly eager part of it—at the contact.

Lila gasps when she sees the interior of the RV. The sound of her light inhale does fucked-up things to me. Especially since I’m practically grabbing her sweet ass in those tight Daisy Dukes.

Damn.

Ilikeit, I realize. I love her awe. I like being the one who’s inspiring it. It makes me want to give her everything I have, just so I can hear that amazed little huff.

I don’t stop to think about the fact that I might possibly be losing my goddamn mind. I’ve never wanted to spend more than a few hours with a woman before and I’m nowplanning a journey that will take at least a hundred and twenty with this perfect little stranger. By choice.Because I’m fucking fixated.

“Wow,” she breathes. I wasn’t joking about the hard-on, and the sounds she’s making as she checks out the bus are getting me rock fucking hard.

I’m not going to analyze the fact that I’ve just rented an oversized and overpriced bus just to impress some admittedly-gorgeous friend of Sloane’s, who I’m now planning to drive across the entire continental United States so she can meet up with her ex and supposedly seduce the fucker.

Cash interrogated me about why I’m taking a week off and about who I’m spending it with. If I told him the truth I would never live it down.

He knows I don’t commit.

Then why are you standing here gazing at her like a lovestruck idiot?

Lila’s Daisy Dukes have leather strips sewn along the sides. Must be one of her own designs, and the cowgirlish detail suits her. There’s something a little bit untamed about her, like she has trouble fitting into other people’s boxes and can’t quite thrive when she’s expected to. She told me last night she was from L.A. and it almost surprised me. I might have guessed Tennessee or Wyoming or something wilder than Venice Beach. Then again, L.A. is its own trip. Either way, I find myself looking forward to being the first one to show her Nashville. The times I’ve spent there have always been good ones.

The longest strands of her still-damp hair hang halfway down her back. The shorter strands are wavier this morning, framing her face with whimsical almost-curls. It’s the cutest fucking hairdo—again, not something I’d usually stop to think about. Her tight t-shirt, withEat the Patriarchyemblazoned in small letters right across her nipples, makes me bite back a smile.

Eat it? When can we start?

She’s slim but curvy with long legs. She has the kind of banging body that any clothes look good on. The tight little outfit is messing with my fucking head.

Don’t even get me started on her face. Her features are petite and devastatingly cute. Her cheeks are flushed and her mouth looks slightly puffy, and pink with lipgloss. Like a piece of candy-coated ripe fruit that’s basically the most appealing thing I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life.

All these details combined are blowing my mind to an extent that’s downright maddening. I know for a fact that I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman in my life. How is she not on the cover of every magazine? How did she just slip through all those cracks and end up alone and unguarded at a random Hamptons party? She seems too fuckinggoodfor randomness. Someone should be making sure she’s okay. Someone should be making sure she’s safe and taken care of.

Me.

I want to do that.

I don’t even know what to do with the sudden—but asforceful as a runaway freight train—thought. It’s such a foreign one, I do my best to dismiss it, but something rages in my psyche.Troy wasn’t up to that job. He let her go. And now you’re actually going to deliver this beautiful girl straight into the arms of a clueless asshole who doesn’t deserve her.

Something is going to break between this moment and that one and I’m starting to hope it’s not my own sanity.

Lila doesn’t notice me staring. She’s too busy checking out the bus. “This thing isamazing. It’s nicer—and bigger—than any apartment I’ve ever lived in,” she muses. “And it’s onwheels.”

She sits on one of the two large leather couches, bouncing lightly as though to test it out. There are a couple of matching armchairs, a dark-wood coffee table, a flat-screen TV, lamps, and even a fireplace. She’s mesmerized by all of it, giving herself a little tour. At the far end of the bus, an open-plan kitchen has stainless steel appliances, granite countertops and a kitchen nook with a table and seating area. Beyond that, a door opens into a full bathroom. Between the lounge and the kitchen, a staircase leads up to a second floor, which has another larger bathroom and a bedroom with a king-sized bed. I happen to know this because I spent a lot of time in the small hours of the morning googling like a fucking maniac.

She’s already upstairs. “Oh my god!” I hear her squeal, which causes more blood to rush to my overly-enthusiastic cock. “There’s a huge bed up here!”

All the better to begin your lessons, darlin’.

I force myself not to take those stairs by threes and begin Lesson Number One right now, dragging my brain into less X-rated territory. It might not happen. We might soon find that we don’t click, I’ll buy her a first-class ticket from Nashville to L.A. and we can both get back to normality.

Bullshit. You’re more smitten than you’ve ever been in your wretched, serial-dating life.

It’s because I’ve never found anyone I wanted to date twice, that’s all.

Until now.

Fuck this train-of-thought argument going on inside my own head. It’s like I just developed a full-blown addiction and my brain has no idea how to deal with it.

I need to calm the fuck down.

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