Page 50 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy
“What?” I squeak nervously. “I like how they taste.”
It’s not a lie. Idolike them. And it’s not like I’m preparing for... anything.
Totally not.
His gaze never leaves mine. I feel my cheeks reddening.
“You’re making this very difficult, you know,” I whisper, my voice shaky.
“Making what difficult, Lucy?” he asks. His gaze drops to my lips.
“Pretending you’re the enemy,” I admit, the words barely audible.
A slow, dangerous smile spreads across his face. The mask is gone, replaced by something primal and focused.
He stands up, slowly. My eyes track his every movement.
He’s tall. Imposing.
He radiates confidence and control.
He walks around the desk until he’s standing directly in front of me, boxing me in between my chair and the solid oak.
“Perhaps,” he murmurs, reaching out, his fingers gently brushing a stray strand of hair from my cheek. His touch sends sparks across my face.
Holy hell is this really happening? It can’t be happening.
“Perhaps I don’t want to be enemies anymore,” he finishes.
He leans down, his face inches from mine. I can feel the heat radiating off him. My breath catches in my throat. This is it. The point of no return. My brain is screaming warnings.
He’s your enemy! This is unprofessional! He’ll break your heart and your company!
But my body isn’t listening. It’s humming with an anticipation that drowns out all reason.
Screw it.
17
Lucy
Iclose the remaining distance, rising slightly, and press my lips against his.
For a second, he freezes, surprised. Then a low groan rumbles in his chest, and his arms come around me, pulling me flush against his hard body. His kiss isn’t tentative or exploratory. It’s consuming. Demanding. A release of all the simmering tension that’s been crackling between us since that first meeting at the expo.
He tastes like expensive wine and controlled power, and I melt into him, my hands tangling in his perfectly styled hair, messing it up.
He deepens the kiss, one hand sliding down my back, pressing me impossibly closer, the other tilting my head to give him better access. My portfolio, the spreadsheets, the fate of Hammond & Co., it all fades away. There’s only this. Him. The overwhelming sensation of being wanted, desired, by this complicated, infuriating, surprisingly compelling man.
He breaks the kiss, breathing hard, his foreheadresting against mine. His eyes are dark, intense, his pupils dilated.
“Lucy,” he breathes, his voice rough.
Before I can respond, he takes control again. His hand slides from my back to the front of my blouse, his fingers brushing the curve of my breast through the thin silk. My breath hitches. He confidently backs me up against the edge of my sturdy oak desk, the cool wood pressing against my thighs. The move is pure dominance, claiming the space, claimingme.
He cages me in, one hand braced on the desk beside my hip, the other beginning a slow, deliberate exploration of the buttons on my blouse.
“Christopher…” I gasp, half protest, half plea. My office. The office of mydad’scompany. This is insane.
