Page 35 of How to Win the Wild Billionaire

Italian, Bay decided. Florence or Milan. Big money, judging by the Birkin bags, the Louboutin shoes and the huge diamonds on fingers and earlobes.

One woman had her hand on Digby’s forearm, and he was laughing. The man added something and Digby clapped him on his back, before turning to the waiter standing behind him holding a tray of glasses filled with what she knew to be a superb vintage of Moët & Chandon.

Digby handed out glasses, flashing his broad, sexy grin.

He loved this, Bay realized. He loved interacting with his guests, playing the part of the genial host. Some of it was based in his need for attention but a good portion of it was his genuine love for people, for making them feel welcome, happy and looked after.

All the things he’d never experienced growing up within his own family. Neither, she admitted, had she.

Bay stopped by a column, concealed by a huge bouquet of mixed flowers, and watched as another two men approached Digby, who was standing to the side of the group. Digby caught their eye, held up a discreet finger asking them to wait and, with ease, disengaged himself from the Italians. The men waiting for him shook his hand and Bay saw the genuine pleasure on their faces.

People liked Digby, she realized. They liked him a lot.

He was extraordinarily self-confident and bold and in being so unapologetic about it, he silently encouraged people to follow his lead. People felt more alive around him; she certainly did. Just knowing him promised some sort of adventure, and people were attracted to individuals who could make their lives more interesting.

Bay was.

Ah, hell. Attracted to him? She was more than halfway in love with him. What a stupid thing to have done, Bay thought. She could just, well, kick herself.

Bay held her hand up to her face to hide her yawn and slowly made her way across the floor, hoping a brisk walk would raise her flagging energy levels and, hopefully, spark her creativity. And clear her head...

Bay felt her phone vibrate and she pulled it out of the pocket of her cotton pants. Swiping her thumb across the screen, her heart—stupid, stupid thing—leaped when she saw Digby’s name on the screen.

My office. Now.

Frowning at his unusually autocratic text message, Bay looked around, didn’t see Digby and retraced her steps back toward his office. After punching in the code that gave her access to the back rooms of the hotel, she pulled open the door and walked down the passage. Stepping into Monica’s office, she started to greet Digby’s assistant and realized that she wasn’t there. Hearing the door shut behind her, she whirled around and slammed into Digby’s hard chest. She clocked the sound of the outer door locking but before she could make sense of what was happening, Digby’s mouth was on hers and she spun away on a vortex of pleasure.

She allowed herself a minute to indulge in the wonderful feel and taste of him before pulling back and putting some distance between them, her breathing so labored she felt like she’d run a fast five miles’ race.

“I saw you walking across the lobby and realized that I couldn’t go one more day, one more goddamn minute, without touching you.”

Bay looked into his eyes, midnight blue and a little feral, a lot wild. Needing to connect with him, just a little, she placed her hand on his chest, feeling his thundering heartbeat. Hers was pumping at maximum capacity, as well. God, she’d missed him. Working near him and not being able to touch him had tested her willpower every minute of every day.

She was thrilled that Digby was suffering, as well.

But, as powerful and as feminine as that made her feel—having a man like Digby looking at her like she was everything he wanted and needed was a high she’d never experienced before—shehadto be sensible and cautious.

“We can’t do this, Digby. I told you that.”

“One kiss, Bay. I’ve missed your mouth.”

She’d missed him too, dreadfully. And what would one kiss hurt? There were no cameras in Digby’s private offices; nobody would know. She needed this quick interlude to slake a little of the desire that raged through her.

Digby’s mouth connected with hers and Bay felt that hit of lightning, that spike of need. Yeah, this. This man, this moment...

When Digby moved his hands up to hold her face in his, tilting her head to take their kiss deeper and darker, Bay stroked his waist from hip to rib cage.

“I think about you all the time and not being able to touch you is so damn hard,” Digby muttered as he dropped sexy kisses on her jaw, across her cheekbone. “I’m so damn hard. All the time.”

As if to prove his point, Digby pushed his erection into her stomach and Bay released a tortured moan. She wanted him, in her hands, in her mouth...everywhere. She’d never felt so out of control and she loved it.

She loved kissing this wild man, charming and complicated.

His mouth came back to hers and his tongue found hers, stroking it. His taste was delicious, his breath sweet. And with every thrust, each parry, she could feel herself losing control. She wanted him, no, worse, sheneededhim.

And because that need was so fierce, so crazy intense, Bay knew she had to back away before he overwhelmed her senses and desire shut down her ability to think rationally. Her body was betraying her; her willpower had gone AWOL. And because she couldn’t afford to lose herself in him, she yanked herself out of Digby’s arms and moved back until she was out of arm’s reach.

In his eyes, she saw lust and regret and frustration. Stepping back, he raked the fingers of both hands through his hair.

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