Page 28 of Billionaire's Promise
I peer at him from under my eyelashes, take in the hard planes of his face, the square jaw, that thick upper lip, the puffy lower lip that I want to dig my teeth into…. What the hell? Why is it that every time I set eyes on him, my intentions always go there?
I glance away. "I shouldn’t have come."
"No, you shouldn’t have."
I stiffen.
"But I am glad you did."
I jerk my head toward him again. "You are?"
He surveys me a little longer, then nods. "Sure, this makes my job easier."
I snap my shoulders back, rise to my feet, "If you are going to insult me—"
He blows out a breath, raises a hand. "Sorry, that was out of line."
I stay where I am, watch him as he seems to struggle with some emotion. Then, he points to a corner of the room. "Hand me that shirt, will you?"
I walk toward the bed, where someone has flung down his shirt. Pick it up, and the scent of him is suddenly there. Dark, edgy, masculine, laced with that scent of crisp mountain breeze and pine trees that I’ve come to associate with him. I walk over, holding it out. He reaches for it and our fingers touch. Goosebumps sizzle up my skin. I retract my hand, and glance up to find that he’s watching me carefully. Did he feel it too? He must have. A pulse tics at the corner of his jaw. He shoves one arm into his shirt, reaches for the other and winces. Sweat beads his forehead. "Fuck," he growls under his breath.
"Let me," I offer before I can think otherwise. Stepping into the space between his legs, I lower the shirt on his shoulder to give it enough slack, then reach for the other sleeve. I hold it down so he can wrestle his arm into it, then slide it over his shoulder.
The tips of my breasts graze his chest, and his body goes solid. His shoulder muscles tense. A cloud of heat seems to spool off of him and slam into my chest. I swallow. My nipples harden until they throb. My toes curl. Moisture pools between my thighs.
"Ava," he whispers.
"Y…yeah."
"You’re stepping on my foot."
"Oh." I gulp. "OH."
I glance down to find that, sure enough, my one booted foot is squarely on his much bigger, broader, wider, also-booted-but-in-Doc Martens foot.
I step off of him, backing away.
The oxygen rushes into my lungs and I gulp it down. My head spins. It’s only because I’d forgotten to breathe there for a few seconds. That man… Holy hell… Standing close to him was like being faced with a furnace… Or being at the edge of a tornado. Or both. Throw in some thunderstorms, and hail... Well, add in all the fury of nature and you’ll understand what I mean. It was like being on the edge of an incline, glancing down at the slope that led to a crazy jump, and knowing that once you set down the course there was no turning back. I stumble back, hit my chair and sit down again.
"I… I guess… I should leave.” I clear my throat.
"You should."
I sneak a peek at him, take in the shirt that he’s not yet buttoned. The column of his throat, the smooth expanse of ripped abs, the smattering of hair between his pecs. My stomach trembles and my thighs clench. I grip the arms of my chair.
"But you won’t," he rumbles.
"What?" I frown at him. "What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean."
"N…no." I fix my gaze on him. "No, I don’t."
"You do." His lips curl. Oh, Hell, why does his smirk have to be that hot? That sexy. That mean…with a dollop of cruelty.
Argh. Stop it. Stop eating him up with your eyes, bitch. And just over a week ago, you’d been salivating over a hot priest. The one who ran out and left you on your knees…literally. Ugh. I’ve had enough of the Seven. I should get out of here. I should.I push my heels into the floor, rising up to my feet.
He follows my every move; the skin around his eyes creases. He watches as I take a step forward, angle my body. I should turn. I should go. I swallow, put one foot in front of the other. I reach him, pause in front of him. His gaze heats. He tips his chin up, leans back in his chair, then he widens the space between his thighs.
