Read Online Shopping for a Billionaire 1 by Julia Kent - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Julia Kent
Ads: Link
sending one hell of a signal. There is no pretense here. I don’t have to guess whether he’s interested. And my signals are so clear that the only way I could be more obvious would be to rent a billboard and hang a twenty-foot color photo of myself naked with the caption “I WILL SLEEP WITH YOU, DECLAN.”
It can’t be this easy, can it? My mind spins as his fingers move along the tender skin of my neck, making me gasp. I’m looking up at him and his lips look soft. Tender. Commanding and tasty.
A distant sound of ringing glass fills the air. It’s distinct and cuts through the spell between us.
Declan looks back toward my front door. My mother is standing next to the open window with a wine glass and a spoon, gently chiming it like she’s at a wedding reception and calling for the bride and groom to—
“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” she chants.
Declan looks at me, and with a deadpan expression says, “I think your mother wants us to take this nice and slow.”
Amy yanks Mom out of the window and I hear muffled yelling. I grab Declan’s hand and pull him to the limo door. The driver opens it and I climb in so fast and so inelegantly I hear my skirt split up the seam in the back.
Declan hears it, too, but sits back in the beige leather seat and ogles the vast expanse of creamy skin my mishap now exposes. A scene from a movie I saw recently, where a couple has sex in a limo, the woman in a ball gown, straddling the man, picks this exact moment to make a re-entrance into my psyche, plaguing me.
“Nice legs,” Declan says.
“I’ll bet you say that to all the marketing coordinators.” He starts to say something, and I add, “And to none of the marketing vice presidents.”
He thinks about that for a second and says, “You got me there.”
Chapter Nine
Our eyes lock.
“Where are we going?” It’s a relief to make simple small talk.
He names a restaurant I’ve always wanted to try, but needed to date a billionaire to afford.
Oh.
“Sounds good,” I say, nodding. Leaning back against the buttery leather, I try to take in my surroundings without looking like a major gawker. The leather seats hug my body better than any knockoff Tempur-Pedic memory foam like Mom and Dad have on their bed back home. A small fridge and a few decanters of what I assume are spirits dot the edges of the enclosed space. The limo looks like it could seat six comfortably, eight in a pinch.
With just two of us in here, there’s plenty of room to stretch out.
Go horizontal.
Or straddle.
I close my eyes, willing the sensual images that flood my brain to stop. Declan’s steady breath doesn’t help, cutting through me like he’s syncing it with the pictures in my mind. The scent of him fills the air between us and I feel charmed.
And doomed.
Declan chooses to say nothing, just watching me as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. His eyes take me in and I wonder how I appear to him. Loose, long hair. Makeup mostly where it’s supposed to go. A curvy body in a dress meant to ooze sophistication. A tailored, feminine blazer that says I might be sexy underneath, but I’m all business on the outside.
My inner world is crumbling, brick by brick, and Declan’s holding the sledgehammer that demolishes me. Women like me don’t ride in cars like this. We don’t get invited out for a dinner—business or pleasure—by men like Declan. And we certainly don’t entertain wild ideas about happily ever after with men who will go so high in the business world that women like me are just, well…coordinators.
Whatever delusions I hold inside about his attraction for me are there only because he’s looking at me like he really means it. As if I am as beautiful and desirable as his look says.
He’s very good at pretending that I’m worth the attention.
His phone rings, making me jump. His breathing stays the same, and his sleek, fluid movement impresses me. Nothing seems to rattle him. With dulcet tones, he
It can’t be this easy, can it? My mind spins as his fingers move along the tender skin of my neck, making me gasp. I’m looking up at him and his lips look soft. Tender. Commanding and tasty.
A distant sound of ringing glass fills the air. It’s distinct and cuts through the spell between us.
Declan looks back toward my front door. My mother is standing next to the open window with a wine glass and a spoon, gently chiming it like she’s at a wedding reception and calling for the bride and groom to—
“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” she chants.
Declan looks at me, and with a deadpan expression says, “I think your mother wants us to take this nice and slow.”
Amy yanks Mom out of the window and I hear muffled yelling. I grab Declan’s hand and pull him to the limo door. The driver opens it and I climb in so fast and so inelegantly I hear my skirt split up the seam in the back.
Declan hears it, too, but sits back in the beige leather seat and ogles the vast expanse of creamy skin my mishap now exposes. A scene from a movie I saw recently, where a couple has sex in a limo, the woman in a ball gown, straddling the man, picks this exact moment to make a re-entrance into my psyche, plaguing me.
“Nice legs,” Declan says.
“I’ll bet you say that to all the marketing coordinators.” He starts to say something, and I add, “And to none of the marketing vice presidents.”
He thinks about that for a second and says, “You got me there.”
Chapter Nine
Our eyes lock.
“Where are we going?” It’s a relief to make simple small talk.
He names a restaurant I’ve always wanted to try, but needed to date a billionaire to afford.
Oh.
“Sounds good,” I say, nodding. Leaning back against the buttery leather, I try to take in my surroundings without looking like a major gawker. The leather seats hug my body better than any knockoff Tempur-Pedic memory foam like Mom and Dad have on their bed back home. A small fridge and a few decanters of what I assume are spirits dot the edges of the enclosed space. The limo looks like it could seat six comfortably, eight in a pinch.
With just two of us in here, there’s plenty of room to stretch out.
Go horizontal.
Or straddle.
I close my eyes, willing the sensual images that flood my brain to stop. Declan’s steady breath doesn’t help, cutting through me like he’s syncing it with the pictures in my mind. The scent of him fills the air between us and I feel charmed.
And doomed.
Declan chooses to say nothing, just watching me as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. His eyes take me in and I wonder how I appear to him. Loose, long hair. Makeup mostly where it’s supposed to go. A curvy body in a dress meant to ooze sophistication. A tailored, feminine blazer that says I might be sexy underneath, but I’m all business on the outside.
My inner world is crumbling, brick by brick, and Declan’s holding the sledgehammer that demolishes me. Women like me don’t ride in cars like this. We don’t get invited out for a dinner—business or pleasure—by men like Declan. And we certainly don’t entertain wild ideas about happily ever after with men who will go so high in the business world that women like me are just, well…coordinators.
Whatever delusions I hold inside about his attraction for me are there only because he’s looking at me like he really means it. As if I am as beautiful and desirable as his look says.
He’s very good at pretending that I’m worth the attention.
His phone rings, making me jump. His breathing stays the same, and his sleek, fluid movement impresses me. Nothing seems to rattle him. With dulcet tones, he
Similar Books
