Page 10 of How to Win the Wild Billionaire

But Bay Adair, Digby realized, was most definitely not easy, in any sense of the word. She wouldn’t, he knew, indulge in sex for sex’s sake.

Bay sent him a quick, embarrassed smile. “I really hope you find a designer who’ll do this place justice. Please don’t let them take their inspiration from the decor in the lobby.”

“What’s wrong with the lobby?” Digby asked. He rather liked the look of the lobby.

Bay wrinkled her nose. “It’s cold. It reminds me of a snooty museum or art gallery.”

Well, he’d asked. Digby felt Bay’s hand on his forearm as she stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Thanks for your time. Don’t bother seeing me out—I’ll find my way.”

She moved her lips to his mouth, tasting him quickly before pulling back. “Have a good life, Digby Tempest-Vane.”

Digby, still trying to catch up, stared at her slim back as she walked away, wondering how one kiss—admittedly a stunning, earthshaking, volcanic kiss—could make him feel so shaken, so utterly off balance.

But it had and he was. He didn’t, he silently admitted as he gripped the railing with both hands, like either sensation.

CHAPTER THREE

BAYWALKEDOUTof the ballroom, caught the elevator to the lobby and ducked into the first ladies’ bathroom she came across, grateful to find it empty.

Gripping the basin with both hands, she stared at her reflection, wincing at her flushed cheeks and bright eyes. Her lips looked swollen and red, and anyone with any observational powers would immediately know she’d been thoroughly kissed.

It had been a lot of fun, Bay thought, touching her lips with her fingertips. In the space of a few minutes, Digby turned her to liquid wax and she’d lost track of where she was...

Andwhoshe was.

Bay hadn’t had many lovers—okay, a grand total of two—but she’d kissed enough guys to know that Digby Tempest-Vane had a master’s degree in the art of smooching. It had been, by an African mile, the best kiss of her life.

And, probably, her last. For a long, long while.

Pity.

Pulling her thoughts off his expert lips and exceptional body, Bay splashed some water on her hot face and told herself to pull it together. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she touched her lips, her thoughts returning to how wonderful it felt standing in his arms. She’d felt secure and protected, emotions she hadn’t experienced in a long, long time.

Was that why his kiss rocked her off her feet? She’d been completely on her own for five years but, since she was a young teen, she’d been on the outside of her family looking in, on unstable emotional ground. Had she responded like a wild woman to Digby because he was tall and strong, the ultimate alpha male, somebody bigger and stronger than her? Because she’d needed to feel safe?

Was she doing that age-old, biological thing, looking for a strong protector, someone to slay her dragons for her? And if she was, then she was being a complete moron.

She was a strong, independent woman who could, and would, wield her own sword, thank you very much. Relationships—and love—were a quid pro quo, a trade-off, the price always too high to pay.

As she’d suspected, working for Tempest-Vane was an impossibility. She’d taken her shot, missed the basket and it was time to move on. She had a little girl relying on her and she wouldn’t let her down.

Pulling her phone from her bag, and ignoring her hollow heart and dread, Bay called Busi’s cell. When it went straight to voice mail, Bay called Busi’s office. The receptionist told her that Busi was away from her desk and would be unavailable for the next few days. Would she care to leave a message?

Bay left her details and heard the beep of an incoming call. Switching calls, and frowning at the strange number, she stated her name.

“Ms. Adair, my name is Bradbury, and I’m a lawyer representing your parents.”

Okay. So why was he calling her?

“This is a courtesy call to inform you that your parents intend to sue for custody of one Olivia Jane Samsodien...”

For the second time in the space of an hour, Bay felt her head swim. Bay caught a glance of herself—her face deathly pale and her lips now bloodless—as she dropped into the wingback chair, thankful it was there because her knees no longer seemed to be working.

This couldn’t be happening...

When the first wave of denial and shock passed, Bay rested her forearms on her thighs, staring down at the plush carpet beneath her shoes, and did some deep-breathing exercises. When she felt her panic receding, she pushed her emotions back and forced herself to think. Almost immediately, two thoughts became crystal clear.

First, she needed a lawyer who specialized in family law.

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