Page 18 of The Billionaire's Bargain

Alexander

The quarterly reportsblur before my eyes for the third time in twenty minutes. It's no use. My mind refuses to focus on anything but her.

Alice.

Three doors down the hallway, curled up in my library with her delicate fingers trailing over book spines as if they're precious artifacts. Three days she's been in my home, sleeping under my roof, and I'm already a man possessed. A manobsessed. A man on the verge of breaking his own carefully constructed rules.

I toss my pen onto the desk and lean back in my chair, the leather creaking beneath my weight. The office suddenly feels too small, too confining, despite the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city I've spent years conquering. None of those conquests matter now. The only territory I'm interested in claiming is five-foot-four with soft curves and eyes that widen whenever I enter a room.

The memory of her face when I showed her my library this morning still burns bright. Her mouth had dropped open, those pink lips forming a perfect O that I'd been desperate to taste.

"All of these...are yours?" she'd whispered, her voice catching.

"They're yours now too, Alice. For as long as you're here."

She'd spun in a slow circle, nearly trembling with excitement. Not over jewels or designer clothes—over books. Used books, many of them, collected over years of travel. The wonder in her eyes made me feel like I'd given her the moon instead of merely access to some paper and ink.

"Go ahead," I'd told her, forcing myself to step back despite wanting to press her against the shelves. "Take your time. I have some work to catch up on."

A necessary lie. I'd finished my actual work yesterday, clearing my schedule in anticipation of her arrival. But I needed distance. Space to breathe air that wasn't perfumed with her scent—that clean, simple fragrance that clings to her skin despite the expensive toiletries I've stocked her bathroom with.

My phone buzzes. I glance at the screen.

Meeting in 30. Acquisition details finalized?

Jason, my CFO, expecting me to care about buying another company when my entire world has narrowed to the slender waitress who's been surviving on tips and determination.

Three days. Seventy-two hours of torture and bliss.

I haven't touched her. Not really. A hand at the small of her back when guiding her through doorways. Fingers brushing when passing coffee mugs. Each contact sending electrical currents through my body that leave me hard and aching.

My office phone rings, yanking me from my thoughts. I ignore it. What I can't ignore is the hollow feeling spreadingthrough my chest—the growing certainty that this arrangement isn't enough. Having her in my home but not putting my cock inside her is its own special kind of hell.

I've built an empire on patience and strategic timing. On knowing when to strike and when to wait. But Alice has demolished my self-control without even trying.

The decision crystallizes suddenly, sharp and clear like everything else becomes when I set my mind to it. A change of scenery. A place where there are no distractions, no work obligations. Just Alice and me and the inevitable conclusion to this tension coiling between us.

I grab my phone and dial.

"Prepare the jet," I tell my pilot. "Departure for Isla Alexander in three hours. Just myself and one guest. And inform the island staff we'll be arriving tonight."

The island. My private sanctuary off the Caribbean coast, named with the particular brand of arrogance that comes from having purchased your own island before turning thirty. It's remote, secluded, and obscenely beautiful. The perfect setting to break down the remaining barriers between us.

I find her exactly where I left her, curled in a window seat in the library. The afternoon light catches in her dark hair, creating hints of chestnut and mahogany. Her feet are tucked beneath her, shoes discarded on the floor. A forgotten cup of tea sits cooling on the table beside her. She's so absorbed in her book she doesn't hear me enter.

For a moment, I simply watch her. The slight furrow between her brows as she concentrates. The way her lips move silently over certain passages. The gentle rise and fall of her chest beneath the simple t-shirt she's wearing.

Mine.The word pulses through me with each heartbeat. Not yet, but soon.

She feels my presence eventually, glancing up with a startled little gasp that sends heat straight to my groin.

"Alexander! I—I'm sorry. I lost track of time." She starts to unfold herself, the book sliding from her lap.

"Don't move," I say, softer than my usual tone. "You look perfect right there."

The blush I've come to crave spreads across her cheeks. "I've read half your collection already, I think. I've never seen so many first editions."

I cross the room and sit on the edge of the window seat, close enough that her scent envelops me but not so close that she'll feel trapped. "I have a proposition for you, Alice."

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