Page 33 of Billionaire Romantic
“She’s not what I’m looking for.”
“Whatareyou looking for?”
The question hits something in him and his gaze is almost too much. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Good answer,” I have to admit. “Better to let a random dating app select for you instead of taking your chances on a real live human.”
“I had to accept a date withLucky Irish, now, didn’t I? My brother told me the algorithms troll through all your internet usage.Allof it. From day one. And then it makes the matches based on everything it learns.”
“That almost sounds creepy.”
Noah gently tucks a stray curl behind my ear. With his movement, his thigh is now flush against mine, ludicrously warm and hard. My heart beats in my chest with a strange kind of longing. I can’t be jealous ofCleoorSloaneorAmanda. I hardly know him. But for some reason maybe I am.Because he’s so freaking beautiful.
No wonder he’s popular. It doesn’t make sense for him to be here at all.
His eyes meet mine with a hint of something that’s more than playful. Something deeper. “You, Lucky Irish, have my undivided attention. Okay?” Like he’s trying to reassure me.
Which I don’t need, of course. “If you say so, Noah Steel.”
The air between us feels electric. A light throb plays between my legs. He smells like leather and uncut…comfort.
Help. I’m drowning in the cloud of alpha male pheromones Noah Steel is emitting.
The waiter arrives with our food. Setting our plates in front of us, he remains professional, making a point of not staring at how close we’re sitting to each other, or how Noah’s hand is still holding mine. “I hope you’re enjoying your evening so far, Mr. Steel. Ms. Irish.”
“We are,” Noah confirms. “When I googled your establishment before our dinner tonight, your website mentioned a penthouse suite. Is it available tonight? In fact, is it available for the entire weekend?”
What?
“Yes, Mr. Steel, it is available. Would you like me to reserve it for you?”
“Yes.” Noah hands the waiter a black credit card. “Make sure everything goes on this. We’d like to have dessert on the rooftop.”
“Of course, sir.”
15
The waiter rushesoff to organize Noah’s request.
“Penthouse suite?” I nudge him gently with my elbow. Out of nerves mainly, but also because I can’t think of anything else to say. “Just because I told you about my secret fantasy doesn’t mean I want it to happen tonight.”
Oh my god, did I just say that out loud?
Like we’re old chums enjoying an inside joke?
That happens to be about me not only getting laid but also knocked up?
What the hell!
He nudges me back, soothing my panic by a single degree. “It’s just dessert, Irish. Don’t get overexcited.”
I give him a look but I can feel that my face is pink. “I’m not…overexcited.”Stop talking now!
The soft notes of humor and a kind of familiarity that shouldn’t be there buffer his joke: “Don’t worry, I’m not offering to be your sperm donor—not yet, at least.”
“Very funny.”
“I just thought it might be nice to have a view for our second half of the evening.”
