Read Online Shopping for a Billionaire 3 by Julia Kent - Free Book Online Page B

actually on ESPN and checking scores. The Red Sox are playing at Fenway right now. In know that because we flew over them, and that fact makes the entire night seem so surreal.  
    Seem? It is surreal. Magical. A little too p erfect.
    My stomach growls in protest. “What about dinner?” I ignore him and start walking up the stairs. There’s no railing, so I cling to the stones with splayed palms, thanking God I’m not wearing high heels.
    “Nice view,” he says, suspiciously close behind me. A warm hand slides up between my thighs. “Here, let me lend you a hand.”
    “That hand isn’t helping.” His fingers slide under my already-soaked panties and he gives me the slightest touch against my wetness. We pause and I cling to the wall with even weaker legs.  
    “Really?” he murmurs against the back of my neck. “It seems to be making things much…smoother.”
    “You’re slick.”
    “Actually,” he says, “you’re the one who’s slick.” As tantalizing as being felt up on the stairs is, there’s a very real danger that we will roll down the stone steps and end up in the hospital again and I, for one, cannot emotionally handle two dates in a row ending with an Explanation of Benefits form and an ER co-pay.
    “Let’s get upstairs and see what you have for me.”
    H e takes my hand and puts it on his fly.
    “That’s not quite what I meant, Declan.”
    He glides past me, making sure to press every inch of his chiseled self against my own soft curves, taking the steps up carefully until his ass is in my face. It’s a fabulous view.
    “Normally I’d say ‘ladies first,’ but right now you’re procrastinating, so—”
    “You’re groping me on the stairs and making it so I can’t even walk! How is that procrastinating?” I’m talking to air, though, because by the time I say that, he’s halfway to the top, bounding up like this is part of The Amazing Race and he’s on the annoying team that’s always way ahead of everyone else because they’re in good shape and all that unfair crap .
    So I trek my way up, one frighten ing stair at a time. My hand b r ushes against something soft on the stones and I scream.
    “What’s wrong?” he calls down.
    If I confess, he’ll just make fun of me. Or, worse, come back here and drive me wild w i th those fingers and we’ll tumble down the stairs to our deaths. No one would find us for days. We would be the lead story on New England Cable News for weeks.
    Billionaire Meets Death with K lutzy Woman . News at eleven.
    I force myself to take the stairs at a faster clip. By the time I climb the equivalent of three stories, my quads are screaming.
    Screaming to be wrapped around his hips.
    The most delicious scent tickle s my nose as I make the final turn up to the top of the stairs, Declan standing there, holding open a small door. I have to duck to enter. Oregano and rosemary and something else fill the air, and as I come to a full standing position I’m greeted by a scene out of a dream.
    Tal l , sculpted windows arch high toward a flat ceiling, with the ocean surrounding us in a 360- degree spin that is beyond breathtaking. The room is just beneath what I assume is the lighthouse’s warning light, because an arch of glow comes from above at regular intervals, making this room ethereal and supernatural, as if Declan had conjured it with magic.
    The actual room has a small soapstone stove with a fire burning in it, which helps, because the air is chilled this high up and far out into the harbor. Two large L-shaped sofas ring the wood stove, and a series of blown-gla s s lamps dangle from the ceiling in muted earth tones and adobe. Thick P ersian rugs cover the well-worn wood of the fl o or, wide pine flooring hearkening back to a very different time.
    And a small table for two with candles in large crab buckets filled with seashells is the source of the incredible smell that makes my mouth water and my stomach beg for mercy.
    Declan has t h at effect on