Page 31 of Billionaire Devil

It’s a glittering, perfect oasis that doesn’t feel real. As much as Colton becomes one with the luxury, I can’t quite suppress the feeling that I don’t belong here. Maybe that’s what happens when you grow up worrying about every penny you spend and you suddenly find yourself in a place where a single vase costs more than three mortgage payments.

Colton has them falling at his feet without even trying. He’s both charming and aloof—a lethal combination that has all the women at reception swooning. His killer smile slays them…just like it’s been slaying me for the past twenty-four hours.

It’s the reminder I need.

Colton Maddox is a notorious heart-breaker, which Sloane never tires of gushing to me about.

A cute receptionist flirts with him as she hands him back his black credit card.

I can’t even blame him. Colton’s not doing anything other than being himself. I already know he has this effect on every woman he meets.

Like me, for example. I agreed to this ridiculous escapade after a few drinks and a brief—okay, not that brief—conversation. And now look at me. Stuck with him for five whole days. Caught in a trap of trying to resist what feels like a real connection when he clearly tricks every woman into a similar haze of blind attraction, only to leave them “crying into their Bloody Marys by breakfast”—one of Sloane’s direct quotes that for some reason resurfaces now.

It makes me wonder if we’ll even get as far as L.A. together. There’s no guarantee he won’t bolt somewhere between Nashville and Vegas.

Chill out, girl. Enjoy the moment. It’s better than the freaking Super 8. Have dinner with him, then politely offer to sleep in the RV, at which point he’ll probably insist on being the one to slum it in the parking lot. You can toss and turn for a few hours on king-sized memory foam, wrapped in zillion-count Egyptian cotton. Then it’s only four more days to go.

Colton walks over to me and I make a point ofnotmarveling at how that white shirt shows off his tan and sort of tightens across his chest, showcasing his sculpted arms and the flatness of his abs. “Ready?”

No,I want to say, but I follow him into the elevator anyway. He pushes the button for the top floor.

“You okay, Sunshine?” Reading my mood, maybe.

But the elevator swooshes us up and dings before I can think of an appropriate reply.No, because what if I can’t resist you? Yes, because this place is beyond amazing? Sort of, because I’mresolved to resist you but I’m still enjoying your hotness and your blazingly-manly company more than I want to admit to myself?

We get to the room, and Colton opens the door into the huge suite, with floor-to-ceiling glass looking out onto a large balcony. Steam rises from the corner of the balcony, where the promised hot tub sits, taking full advantage of the view.

It’s an unseasonably warm night but there are several of those outdoor heaters on the balcony glowing their warmth, and Colton goes over to open the folding steel-and-glass doors, doubling the size of the suite.

He walks out to admire the now-muted colors of the sunset, stretching his arms, which causes his shirt to ride up and expose the skin of his muscular back, his leather belt and his low-slung jeans.

Damn it.Yep, he’s a literal demi-god.

“So you weren’t lying about the hot tub.” I’m doing my best not to stare.

He turns and I quickly peel my gaze away. “I never lie about things as serious as a jet massage.”

This was a bad idea.

I notice our bags have already been set just inside the—only—bedroom. The champagne has been popped, poured and returned to its ice bucket.

Colton goes over and takes the flutes, handing me one. His eyes are lit by the darkness, somehow, like their blueness has taken on layers of inky, mysterious hues. “Relax, Bailey.Drink it. It’s French. You already slept off your hangover. What do you think of the room?”

“It’s beautiful. Very classy.”

“Of course. Would you expect anything less?”

“Um…mirrors on the ceiling? A locked red room full of handcuffs and leatherwear?”Why, Lila, why? Do NOT make jokes like that just because you’re nervous.

“Maybe wait until you get into the bedroom before you make your final judgement,” comes his darkly amused reply.

I try to downplay my internal panic that he might not be joking. “If there's so much as a silk sheet, I’m out of here before you can say Professor Maddox.”Lila! What the hell?

“I wouldn’t do that to you, baby girl.” Winking. "Not until lesson three, anyway.”

Here we go.

I groan, taking my champagne out onto the edge of the balcony to fully appreciate the view—and so he can’t see how much I’m blushing.

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