Page 231 of Most Eligible Billionaire CEO

“Okay.” My repertoire of vocabulary has seriously dwindled since I stepped into this club.

He interlaces his fingers with mine and pulls me out of the way.

“You didn’t want to trade me in?” he asks, with a half-smile curling his beautiful lips.

Hell to the no.

I shake my head vehemently. “And you?”

He lets his gaze linger over me with blatant hunger. “Fuck no.”

I’m excited—and terrified—by his unwavering tone.

I’m sure this guy’s experience trumps mine by a long shot.

I really hope I don’t disappointment him.

“So, we’re a match, Wild Strawberry,” he says.

This close, I have no other choice but to take him all in.

He’s really tall, so much so, I have to tilt my head back to meet his insane gaze––even with my five-inch heels. I’m compelled to run my fingers through his silky smooth, thick, wavy brown hair. Some men are hot because they ooze confidence and they know how to work with their best assets. Some men are hot because God was good to them from birth. This tall piece of man candy falls in both categories. His eyes rival precious jewels and enhance his straight nose. His strong jaw is dusted with a 5 o’clock shadow that makes him that much more irresistible. And then, there’s his sexy mouth… Damn. I’d be willing to bet a vital organ his black suit cut to perfection hides a formidable body. Even by LA standards, the sheer perfection of this man is a dead giveaway he’s not human. He can’t be.

Bolstered by this fortuitous turn of events, so immensely grateful Lady Luck was looking out for me and I won’t have to be someone’s baby girl or spend the rest of the evening around the buffet table, I say, “Fuck, you’re hot.”

Very eloquent, Jules.

My handsome match laughs.

Even his laughter is sexy.

Is there anything that isn’t perfect about this man?

To save face, I force myself out of my he’s-too-hot-to-think stupor and retract my overshare, “I mean, it appears we’re a match.”

He leans into me, eclipsing everyone around us, his lips flirting with my earlobe. I’m certain the scent of his intoxicating cologne comes in an absurdly expensive glass bottle that’s uniquely eau-de-freaking-hotness.

“I much preferred, Fuck, you’re hot because that’s exactly the way I feel about you.” I swallow hard. “I was willing to fight off any man here if the deck wasn’t stacked in my favor.”

“Oh,” I pant.

“Looks like I won’t have to throw any punches or break someone’s jaw.”

“Looks like it,” I say with a lopsided grin.

He pulls away from me, and already I miss the warmth emanating from his body.

He reaches out and boldly brushes a finger down the front of my dress—between my breasts to be precise. Since the design doesn’t allow for a bra, there’s no hiding how my nipples pucker with need.

He narrows his eyes, his gaze fixed on my chest, and he bites his lower lip, stifling a moan.

“You look like a goddamn wet dream in that dress,” he tells me.

Me? A sexy alpha’s wet dream?

No one has ever said anything remotely close to that to me before.

Maybe I unknowingly entered the gates of heaven.

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