Page 20 of The Billionaire's Christmas Bride
Her features contort, and I am sure she’s going to stamp her foot and rage, and have a full-on tantrum. This should be interesting. I head to the armchair by the fireplace, drop into it, then pick up my novel.
"The hell are you doing?" she squawks.
"Reading."
She makes a snarling sound at the back of her throat. I hear the thump of her toolkit satchel hitting the floor, then a softer crash—that’s her handbag—followed by the soft sound of her wet clothes hitting the wooden floor. Good. Footsteps approach; the next second she grabs the book from my hand.
"Hey, you only had to ask."
"I did, for my phone. Remember?"
"I mean the book." I lean back in the chair, fold one leg over the other.
She peruses the cover of the book, then blinks. "Harry Potter? You’re reading Harry Potter?"
She glances at me, with…stars in her eyes, once more.
Oh, no, no, damn it."Why do you think I recognized your reference, which I can tell you, is way too obvious. You need to up your game, Buttercup."
Her features tighten.
Bloody fuck, I shouldn’t have insulted her…but what the hell?I need to live up to my reputation as someone who doesn’t give a damn about anyone else… Besides, that strange gooey expression of hers… It scares the shit out of me. Har, har. Ask me to perform a complicated bypass, I am there. Ask me to try to figure out why I have this strange push-pull reaction to her, and hell, if it doesn’t flummox me. Time to set this right and lay down the rules. We’ll see then, how she copes. Fuck that hint of hopefulness I’ve spotted on her face throughout the evening. It is time to show her what I am actually made of.
"Don’t let the fact that I am reading the Potter fool you."
"God forbid," she mutters.
"It’s only so I can keep up with my older niece."
"How many nieces do you have?"
"Two…and I am not answering any more questions."
"Like I care."
"I think you do, actually. And I have to warn you right now."
"What?"
"Don’t fall in love with me, Buttercup. You’ll only have your heart broken."
7
Amelie
My jaw drops. Again. The arrogance of the man. "I wouldn’t fall for you, if you were the last man on earth.
"I’ll hold you to that."
"What is that supposed to mean?" My heart begins to race.
"You know," he replies, his tone hard.
Sweat beads my palms, and it’s not because the inside of the room is warmer than it was before… When had he lit the fireplace? Probably when I was outside. The light from the flames flickers over his face, throwing his features into relief, deepening the shadows under his cheekbones, hollowing out the spaces under his eyes. His dark hair appears almost blue, and those grey eyes seem almost colorless. Deep and fathomless. What would I find if I looked into those depths? A soul that would take, a male who’d possess, who’d pleasure me in the way no one else ever has. A dominant man who’d push aside all of my doubts and teach me how it is to be claimed. A shiver runs down my spine.Is that what I want? Is that why I haven’t left?Hell, it could be just the two of us in this house—a faint scratching comes from the direction of the kitchen—and the puppy. Not another living soul for miles around; no business demands on either of us. He’d come to heal and I had come to find…something… That spark inside of me that had vanished…and which I had been hoping to recapture. That leap of faith that had pushed me to start my own business… That makes me take a step forward…close the distance between us.
He watches me as I move closer. He lowers his feet to the floor, parts his thighs. I step in between them. He tips his chin up. It feels…different this way. Me looking down on him. The angle intensifies that brooding edge that coils under the surface. I want to find out what makes him tick. Why he blows hot and cold; why he’d decided to spend the holidays alone…when he could have been with any woman… Instead, he’s gotten me. I frown.
He shakes his head.
