Page 22 of Marrying the Billionaire Single Dad
"Famous last words." I glance around the apartment on the 65thfloor of The Shard. Bloody hell, this has to be the only apartment at this level in London. I mean, I had no idea there were apartments in The Shard—the tallest building in London—but there you go. You learn something new every day. Like…the fact that I hadn’t resisted him as he’d hauled me out of Weston’s apartment and into the elevator. We'd ridden down in silence and then he'd led me to his bike.
Yep! The big bad rock star drives a road hog… A massive Harley, which had been pure sex between my thighs… Okay, almost as sexy as having Mr. Grumpypants Rockstar there… Gah, stop thinking about that.
He’d made a smooth exit from the Christmas Party. I have to give him credit for that. Not that I’d wanted to be there a second longer. Not when almost everyone there had seemed to be in love, or one half of a devoted couple, not to mention the level of bromance that exists between the men… They hate each other, and clearly, would also do anything for each other… The kind of circle of friends I’ve always longed for…and never had. Well, except for Amelie, who is one of the few who’s survived the transition from childhood to adulthood. So, there’s that.
Both she and Isla had stepped in as Damian had carried me out. They’d asked me if I was okay, and I’d assured them I was in full possession of my faculties and was leaving with Damian of my own free will… Ha! If only that were true.
I dig my feet into the lush carpet in the apartment. This is bloody prime real estate in the heart of London. I knew this guy was successful, but somehow, being here in his place…brings home just how out of my league he is. I walk over to the floor to ceiling windows that comprise an entire side wall of the bedroom. London stretches out below me… Picture postcard perfect… Unlike my bloody life, which is turning out to be the fodder of a B-grade romance movie… Minus the happy ending, which this association with out-of-my league, sexy–as-hell rock star guarantees I will not have.
I place my palm against the glass, which feels cool to my touch. Why the hell am I so feverish? Besides... I pull out my phone from my backpack. Forty minutes of the allocated sixty have already passed, and I haven’t orgasmed once. Maybe he changed his mind, huh? Perhaps this is just a way of… What? Showing me the inside of his bedroom? I shake my hair back from my shoulders. Nah, that doesn’t make sense. He’d all but whisked me here, without giving me the slightest chance to reconsider, so where the hell is he?
He’d stepped out into the other room to make a few calls, he’d said, and that had been—I look at my phone— ten minutes ago now.
"Miss me?" Heat sears my back at the same time that his voice sounds from behind me.
I swallow and my knees threaten to buckle. I drop the phone into my backpack, then lower it to the floor. "Of course, not," I stammer.
"Liar." He places his face close to mine. "You can leave anytime."
"I know."
"I’m not keeping you here."
I start to turn my head, but he clicks his tongue, "Keep looking ahead."
"But—"
I sense him shake his head. "Eyes forward," he orders.
"I am not your possession...something that you can manipulate," I protest.
"You sure about that, Flower?"
"I hate that name."
"Lying again?"
I stiffen, "Of course, not. Why would I? I—"
He steps away. The heat of his body recedes and a chill crawls up my spine. I shiver, stay poised, forehead pressed into the long floor-to-ceiling windows.
"Why are you here?"
The rough edge of his voice wraps about my shoulders, sinks into my blood. My toes curl. Hell, why am I turned on by the harsh edge of his tone, huh?
"You know why," I mumble.
"I didn’t hear you." I hear the smirk in his voice. Jerk.
"I said,you know why," I repeat, a little louder this time.
"Do I?"
"Of course, you do," I snap.
"Then say it aloud. Ask me for what you want."
I bite on the inside of my lip. I want to ask him. I do, but damn him, he knows why I am here, so why is he making me repeat it? "No," I mumble under my breath.
