Page 3 of The Damaged Billionaire

“Never. Don’t plan to be,” I state, because it’s true. I never want to get married.

“Why not?” Her question is simple, but the way she’s looking at me holds more curiosity. She sinks back into the chair again, her body almost molding into my arm. Almost.

“I haven’t had a good experience with marriages in my family.” Even though my two older brothers have found their happiness, it doesn't mean that is my life path. I’m still scared of what a lifelong commitment could be from witnessing my parents' diabolical shambles of a relationship.

“Not many people do. Let’s take Jacob for instance,” she says, turning her body toward me, her bare leg brushing against my trousers. The need I have to touch her tanned, glowing skin and run my hand up her long legs almost has a growl breaking from my chest.

“Jacob?” I ask, already hating another man's name on her lips. My mind is racing, feeling a little drunk on her already.

“The married pilot who is currently fucking my sister.” As soon as the swear word leaves her mouth, my eyes drop to her lips again. Her tongue darts out and licks away the salt flake I wanted for myself, and I am now so fucking hard it is difficult to sit straight.

“What about him?” I press, rubbing my mouth with my hand and trying to keep it together. I want to keep her talking, but… God, her legs would look fantastic around my head.

“He earns a decent salary, lives in Connecticut behind a white picket fence, flies around the world and probably plays golf on the weekends,” she says with a bite, sitting forward and taking another sip. But with her frustration, the sip turns into a long pull that almost has her finishing her drink. When she sets it back down, I notice her chest is rising and falling a little quicker, bringing my attention to her cleavage. My hands tingle to trail across her bare shoulder and slip the strap of her dress off her body to see more of her.

“Probably,” I agree as I realize I’ve been in my own head for too many seconds when she looks at me with a quirked brow. Or have I just been caught checking her out? I clear my throat, and she continues.

“So, what about his wife? And with his seemingly perfect life, why is he leading my sister on? A smart, beautiful woman, who is at least a decade younger than him.” She asks me this like I can speak for all men.

“Well, my father cheated on my mother, and while he died before we got any answers to that question, I can surmise one thing,” I say, throwing back my whiskey, needing the burn.

“What’s that?” she asks, swirling her drink.

“He isn’t getting something at home so he seeks it with your sister. That or he and his wife have an open relationship.” My father may be a cheating asshole that left a trail of women in his wake. But my mother is a monster, so she is not innocent. Not by a long shot.

“Hmmm, maybe. What about you? Ever cheated on a girlfriend?” Her gaze sears into mine, her finger lightly tracing the rim of her glass. How is that action so damn sexy?

“Never,” I answer with complete honesty.

“Never?” Her eyes narrow, like she might not believe me.

“Never had a girlfriend,” I clarify because it is true. I play the field; I never commit.

“Not ever?” she says, her body turning closer to me, her expression one of shock. Eyes wide, lips parted. I’d like to make her look like that while she lies beneath me.

“Not ever,” I say with a shake of my head. “What about you? Boyfriend?” I tease again, not really caring for the answer anymore, because I plan to have her squirming tonight, whether she is single or not.

“Married to my job, remember?” she replies, brushing her hair over her shoulder. It’s a disregarding move in a way, like she thinks I wasn’t listening to her before. That sass has me wanting to spank her.

“So that takes all your time, then?” I ask.

“Mostly. Sometimes it is twenty-four seven. It can ebb and flow.” She rocks her head from side to side like she is stretching out the kinks in her neck, and as I take in the delicate column of her throat, I have never wanted to put my mouth on anything more in my entire life. This woman is killing me and doesn’t even know it.

“So, when it ebbs, what do you do with yourself?” I ask her, but I can’t hold myself back when she leans closer. Her hair falls forward over one shoulder, and I reach up and brush it off and down her back. A shiver scatters through her as I touch her soft skin, but she doesn’t stop me or lean away. And when our eyes connect, a coy smile curls her pretty lips.

“The usual things. Spend time with my sister, exercise…” she says, giving me a look that tells me everything I want to know. That we’re on the same page.

“What exercises do you do?” My voice is low, screaming with inuendo.

“Anything that can get my heart rate up.” And there it is. Exactly what I needed. Our eyes haven’t disconnected since I touched her, my hand still resting on her back, my thumb rubbing lightly. Electricity ripples between us, the tension so thick it’s hard to breathe. I decide to go with it and hope that she is thinking the same things as me. That I’m not completely delusional with lust.

“Want to get out of here?” I ask, and immediately she tamps down a smile, biting her lip.

“What exactly did you have in mind?” Her tone taunts me with seduction, as she’s going to make me spell it out for her. Finishing her drink, she slides her empty glass on the bar to meet mine.

“Oh, I have a lot of things on my mind,” I almost growl, trailing my touch from her back to her shoulders, up to the nape of her neck. I press my thumb into the muscle she was stretching, massaging it lightly, but with enough pressure that she not only melts beneath my touch, but lets out the breathiest sound that zings down to my aching hard-on. I have to hear more of that.

“You do? Tell me one of them,” she almost purrs, her eyes closing slightly as I continue my soothing rub. I take my time, drinking her in, and I don’t miss the way her thighs clench and her pupils dilate under the heat of my gaze and the feeling of my hand.

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