Read Online Stranded With a Billionaire by Jessica Clare - Free Book Online

his large presence next to her on the floor, their shoulders barely touching, their legs only inches apart. She was still in her bra and panties.
    And he was leaning in.
    As she sat there, frozen, his thumb caressed her lower lip. His gaze was on her mouth, and she sucked in a breath at the electric tension that filled the room. He seemed . . . fascinated by her.
    Too soon, Logan pulled his thumb away and then licked it, as if tasting her . . . or the peaches.
    She could feel the flush cross her face even as her heart sped up. Brontë wasn’t quite sure what to make of that tender, intimate action. He’d tasted her.
    ***
    While shewatched the cooking food, Logan searched the other elevators and floors for people. No dice – they were the only two that had been trapped.
    He’d also found flashlights in a storage closet, which helped immensely in exploring the dark hotel.
    Soon enough, they were seated back in the small kitchen. Dinner was ready, and the sexual tension over the peaches was forgotten as they devoured the chicken. Silence fell over the kitchen as they ate their fill. Logan glanced at Brontë from time to time as he ate. There was something so open and trusting about her wide eyes that he found himself instantly responding every time she turned to him with that trusting look. Most women who ran in his circles seemed to be sly and conniving, quietly pricing jewelry in their heads or commenting on the designer labels another woman was wearing. Everything seemed to be a competition, right down to who could snare the richest man.
    It was that sort of attitude that turned his stomach, especially after he’d been burned by it. He’d trusted Danica, and she had tried to play him for a fool. He hadn’t dated anyone seriously since. No woman could be trusted not to be coldly calculating when it came to his bank account. They all seemed to want the same thing, to the point that their faces blurred together in his mind.
    And yet he found himself responding to Brontë’s cheerful smiles. To the way her hand seemed to automatically reach for his now. The way she’d curled up against him. Her outrageous—yet apropos—quotes she seemed to pull from out of nowhere.
    And she thought he was a manager. A white-collar worker making a menial salary—well, menial to him. She hadn’t cared. Her demeanor hadn’t changed when he’d told her what he did for a living, and she trusted him. Liked him, even. He’d noticed the slight tremble of her body when he’d been unable to resist reaching out and brushing his thumb over her soft lower lip.
    Her eyes had gone soft; her breathing had sped up. She hadn’t turned away, either.
    She liked Logan the manager. She couldn’t be grubbing for his fortune, because she didn’t realize he
had
one. He could flirt with her like any normal man.
    Except he wasn’t much of a flirt. When your bank account was as big as his, you didn’t have to try. All you had to do was look at a woman and suggest she take her clothes off, and she’d be naked at your feet.
    It wasn’t in his nature to be coy and teasing. Lean over and kiss the hell out of her? Yes. Stage a ruthless takeover? Absolutely. But flirt and tease? Not in his repertoire.
    Logan frowned to himself, considering this as he finished off the last bite of chicken. He hadn’t come to the island to find a woman. If it hadn’t been for the hurricane, this would have been the last thought on his mind. But with Brontë here, warm and pleasant next to him, the two of them completely isolated from the rest of mankind? He wanted to touch her. To feel her melt beneath his touch.
    Brontë was definitely attractive. Not his normal type—he went for the more polished, poised sort. Models, ballerinas, and the occasional actress. Women who were aggressive and knew what they wanted. Brontë was a waitress who hadn’t found a permanent job since college. But her cheerful demeanor and openness had won him over at once.
    The way she filled