Page 20 of Billionaire's Fake Plus One

She squints, and I wonder if she’s notalreadydrunk, but then she graces me with a huge smile. Ugh, she’s so fucking tempting. I shift in my seat as my pants get tight.

“Iamnervous about sleeping with you.” Her face immediately grows red, and she rushes to correct herself. “Not that we’resleeping together. We’re just going to be sleeping in the same bed. Yes, sleeping.” She nods in rapid succession and moves to pick up her wine glass.

My hand shoots out, and I take the glass out of her reach. “I think you’ve had enough for now. After you finish your food, Imightgive it back.”

Her eyes flash, and I just know she’s about to sass me. I’m not disappointed.

“Who do you think you are to tell me what to do?” She tries to growl, but her voice is too light for it to come out as threatening. Oh God, sheisdrunk. “Maybe taking care of the twins and having them call you Daddy has gotten to your brain, but you’re not in fact,myDaddy.”

She narrows her eyes at me and sluggishly leans forward to take back her wine glass.

It’s too easy to keep it out of her reach, and she growls in frustration. “Listen, I never had one of those, Lucien. And I’m too old and jaded to be bossed around by you. Now hand the glass over.”

“You’re only twenty-three.” I remind her. Reminding myself too that she’s too young. Too fucking young for me to try anything with her no matter how much I’d like to press her against the closest horizontal surface and have my way with her. And what does she mean she never had one of those? Her father might not be in the picture now, but he had to be at some point.

“I may be young in age,” she starts sagely, a somber look in her eyes. “But I’ve experienced enough trauma and bullshit to last a fucking lifetime.”

I did a background check on her after Zane recommended her as a nanny, but I told Malcolm’s investigator to look into criminal records and her financial history. I didn’t care to find out about her as a person. A fact I thoroughly regret right now.

I stare at her, curious about the trauma and bullshit she’s gone through. She’s leaning toward me from across the dining table, trying to snatch her wine glass from me, but she’s too drunk so her attempts are clumsy at best.

A sudden, inexplicable need to know all her secrets hits me, and I have to bite my tongue to hold back the questions lodged in my throat. With her inhibitions loosened from the wine - she drank too fast on a mostly empty stomach - she might just answer any or all my questions. But the thought of taking advantage of her while she’s like this leaves a bad taste in my mouth, making swallowing back my questions necessary.

“Is the thought of lying next to me so bad that you had to drink a copious amount of alcohol to get through it?” I wonder out loud, still watching her.

She finally gives up trying to get to me and rests her back against her chair with an “ugh”, her lips pursed in a pout. I quickly glance up at her blue eyes, not wanting to get aroused when she’s like this.

“It’s not the thought of sleeping next to you that drove me to drinking,” she answers, rolling her eyes like I’m too much, and I chuckle. She narrows her eyes at me, and I quickly sober up.

“You wouldn’t be laughing if you knew the real reason I’m drinking. You’d run straight out of this suite,” she declares threateningly, tilting her chin up to solidify her point.

I like her like this. She seems more real - moreherself. Like the alcohol dropped all her guard and cautiousness, and I can finally see the real Willow. It’s refreshing. “I’ll be the judge of that. Why don’t you tell me why you feel like you had to get drunk?”

“Because alcohol puts me to sleep.” I raise my brow at that answer, wondering how it’s supposed to send me running, but she continues talking. “And I need to sleep before the intrusive thoughts in my head become actions.”

Now, I’m really curious. “What intrusive thoughts?” I ask as I lean forward to push her plate towards her.

She starts eating almost distractedly as she answers, “You make my heart race and my thoughts run wild just looking at you. What if I accidentally touch you in the middle of the night? What if I do the things I desperately want to do to you in the dark and intimacy of the bed.” Her voice is gloomy, but at least she’s finally clearing her plate.

I try not to think too much about her words because that way lies the devil’s temptation. What did that one woman say in the animated TV show Maddie is obsessed with? Right.Think of England, Lucien.“But one touch is only going to lead to more touching and you’re bad for me. You’re really,reallybad for me, Lucien.”

“Why am I bad for you?” My voice is low, and dark thoughts are invading my brain despite my best efforts.Think of fucking England!

“Because your type doesn’t settle down, and I don’t want to end up like my mother. I’ve never had that fear before because I’m always careful. But with you that possibility is very real. Whether I’m careful or not.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask what happened to her mother, but I don’t. She’s already opening up so much, saying things she wouldn’t normally say while sober. “My type? What type is that?” I ask instead, hoping to bring levity to our conversation.

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she pushes her now empty plate away. “I’m full,” she declares and belches loudly, her eyes going wide, and her hand shooting up to cover her mouth. My shoulders shake as I laugh quietly. I really hope she’s not the type to regret the things that happen while they’re drunk.

“What is my type?” I ask again when it seems like she’s not going to answer. I’m enjoying this conversation too much and don’t want it to end.

She shrugs. “Rich. Entitled. Playboy.Rich.”

“Is that really what you think of me?” My amusement fades, and I watch her play with the napkin on the table. Her hair is already spilling out of the ponytail she fashioned it into this morning: rich brown curls with reddish undertones curling against her cheekbones. Fuck, she’s so beautiful.

She shrugs again. “It’s what I’ve always thought, what Iwantto think. But you’re changing my mind. Why are you changing my mind, Lucien? Don’t do it.” Before I can answer, she jumps to her feet and almost loses her balance.

I get up quickly to wrap my arms around her before she hits the floor. She sways against me and then tilts her head up to stare at me. “Your eyes are so pretty. Hypnotizing,” she murmurs, looking dazed as she stares at me.

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