Page 12 of The Billionaire's Accidental Legacy

Ewan had been an emotional child. He’d been filled with sadness, laughter, anger and above all else, hope.

His mother had died and he’d wept until he couldn’t breathe, and then his father had beaten him until his tears had mixed with blood.

He’d stopped showing how much he cared that day.

And he’d begun plotting revenge.

The facade of the playboy was a perfect one. People underestimated him. It was how he’d made his own private fortune in investments. In the beginning people were always willing to sell to him for a bargain-basement price and think they were fleecing him.

Ewan had come out on top, every time.

He laughed easily, he smiled, he made merry with every woman he encountered, but it was a surface kind of pleasure.

When he’d touchedher, it had gone down to his bones.

She had ignited an intensity in him he’d thought long banished.

For her part, she’d seemed nervous, and he could see that she had also tried to make him feel certain she was ditzy.

She’d had different energy the other times he’d seen her, and he knew she was nothing that she appeared to be on the surface.

The woman was like a lure, twisting beneath the surface of a loch. Sun catching her sparkles and making her shine.

There was a hook buried in there, though, he knew.

She was not dithery and she wasn’t inexperienced at cards. She was brilliant. Sharp. She had taken every man at the tables to get here, and she would take him, too.

He would ensure it.

Ewan Kincaid was an expert at reading people. And all of their desires.

He was certain of two things when it came to this woman.

She was a liar. And she wanted him.

She had from the very first.

And she was not at all what she seemed to be.

“You are offering...?”

“One night. My body. Whatever you wish.” She looked at him from beneath her lashes and he could see glitter there. Not just attraction. Something else.

She knew she was going to win so her offer wasn’t sincere.

And yet, it was.

She would have him, if they were alone. She wanted him, desperately, and that was the only honest thing on her face.

“Unorthodox. Imagine if Sir William was still in the game.”

“He is not,” she said. “You are. It is a specific bet. For you to win...or lose.”

She said it with no clear hint of provocation and that, in and of itself, was a red flag to a bull. She was so cool. A mystery. An intrigue.

All so hard to come by for his jaded palate.

“I see. So you have no more money.”

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