Page 35 of Billionaire Romantic
So goddamnsureof itself.
It’s insane that I’m sitting here wondering if I’ve just met the love of my life. Not even wondering.Knowing.
No one can know such a thing after a grand total of two hours.
But I do. She’s the one.
After a lifetime of wondering and hoping, searching but never finding, this feels like a lightning-bolt-shaped Cupid’s arrow has pierced me directly in my hot-beating heart.
Which sounds cheesy as fuck.
My problem is…Ilikecheese. I’ve fuckingcravedtrue romance for as long as I can remember. Life has always disappointed me in that regard. Like it’s been preparing me for this exact moment, so Iknow. So there’s no fucking mistake about it.
You’re too picky, my brothers used to tell me.
Who are you waiting for?
The perfect woman doesn’t exist.
Circumstance has proven all three of my brothers wrong. And it’s happening to me right now in real time.
I’m fucking falling in love.
With a total stranger.
A total stranger who happens to be as perfect as anyone I’ve ever come across. Like fate has thrown all the minutiae of a human being I never thought to wish for—that are specific tomeand only me—into some bubbling cauldron, stirred them up, added several pinches of addictive, habanero-level spice and poured the whole cocktail into one living, breathing…Lucky Irish.
There’s nothing to find fault with.
Nothing.
I’ve heard of algorithms doing their job but this is ridiculous.
Her skin is creamy-smooth, lightly tanned and glowing. I’ve counted the freckles dotted across the bridge of her nose. There are eleven of them. Which happens to be my lucky number.
Her eyes seem to change color depending on her mood. They get darker when I tease her. In certain plays of the light, they almost look violet.
Her hair is outrageous. Shiny and silky but thick. A golden, luminous color you might expect to see on a mythical creature. As though her Uber happened to be a white Pegasus that flew in from Mount Olympus or some magical place with rainbows andpots of gold. County Cork on steroids, maybe. I don’t fucking know.
Her mouth.It’s so damn luscious-looking I’m seriously in agony.
It’s not only the physical draw but an emotional one that’s equally intense. She’s kind, that’s easy to read. And smart. With a sparked, sweet but also feisty sense of humor that somehow meshes perfectly with my own.
She’s a little bit lost. And it’s that part of the equation that digs into me almost more than any other. I want to protect her and shield her from life’s harsher edges with a ferocity I hardly recognize.
“Can I ask you a question?” I really am dying to know.
“Depends on what it is,” she replies coyly.
“You don’t have any other kind of relationship going on anywhere, do you?”
“Relationship?”
“Boyfriend. Broken-hearted ex. Secret husband. I don’t know. I’m just trying to figure out why every man in New York isn’t banging down your door.”
“Of course not.” All innocently. “I wouldn’t have gone on a date with you if there was. There’s no one.”
“Why not?” I can’t wrap my head around it.
