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The Billionaire's Pregnant Competition (The Billionaires Club Book 1) Page 16
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But all he said in reply was, “I’m here on family business, too.”
“What are the odds?” Hard as it was to turn away from him, she did. She had drained her drink to little more than melted ice by this point, but she pretended to sip the remainder.
“I’d say they’re about the same as the odds of me getting your name,” he replied.
Brandy offered her best mysterious smile. She was really getting into it now. For the first time in her life, she was actively allowing herself to get picked up at a bar, and she was enjoying it more than she had ever expected.
The man caught the close-lipped intention behind her smile and chuckled. “You can give me a fake name, if you like.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Keeping things transactional. I like it.”
“Transactional? No.” Brandy shook her head. “That’s not the word I would use. And I’m a woman who likes words.” That’s an understatement. No way in hell was she going to bring up the fact that she was an author. Even though she was drawing on every romance heroine she had ever written to excite the conversation between them, she couldn’t imagine the questions that would follow if she revealed who she truly was.
Or why she was really here in England.
“What word would you use, then?” the man asked her with an amused quirk of his lips.
Words failed Brandy in the face of that crooked half-smile. “I… I admit I’m a bit at a loss for words.” She flushed and looked down. A woman could stare into those eyes only so long before she started to ache. “My apologies, but I’m a little rusty when it comes to flirting with strangers.”
“I’m not flirting with you,” he informed her.
Brandy’s heart fluttered a little. “No?” What are we doing, then? Making idle conversation?
“No.” The bartender returned, then. The man accepted his drink and passed the other to her. “I’m seducing you.”
Brandy nearly choked on the dainty sip she had been taking. Powerful alcohol burned down her throat like wildfire and made her eyes instantly tear up. She did her best to stifle a cough and set the drink down. She could feel the man’s steady gaze; out of the corner of her eye, she saw an amused smile slowly wind its way up one side of his face.
“Is there a problem?” he asked.
“What makes you think you’ll succeed?” she wondered aloud. She tried to convince herself she sounded breathless due to the potency of the drink and nothing more.
“I told you. I never guess,” the man replied.
“That’s too bad.” She leaned in, letting her gaze linger a moment too long on his lips. “Guessing games can be fun. If I asked you to guess what color underwear I’m wearing, for instance. What sort of calculation would you be able to make then?”
She usually didn’t do this sort of thing. In fact, she never had before. But this man’s eyes pierced her, shook her to her core, made her actually believe for a moment in time that she could be someone more than Brandy Jackson. Someone braver. What she was doing now was brave, wasn’t it? Traveling to another country, staying in a hotel her budget definitely didn’t allow for, coming downstairs to the bar well past midnight… wasn’t she looking for an adventure?
Under the pretense of getting to his feet, the man at the bar stood and shifted between her legs. Brandy’s heart beat its wings wildly as he leaned in and whispered, “I believe that’s a trick question. As I don’t believe you’re wearing any.”
He was right, of course.
He made her pay for her deception many times over back in his hotel room that night. Brandy found herself pinned beneath her golden stranger, limbs quaking, breath shaking, gasping and moaning, bucking and lunging, a willing prisoner to all that he would do to her. Their lips met in a ceaseless clash, their tongues tangling, their hands roaming over every exposed, surging inch. He shagged her senseless, again and again, making her cry out in wordless, pleasured anguish when she realized she didn’t even know his name.
It was early in the morning before Brandy was finally allowed to succumb to exhaustion. She fell asleep wrapped in a pair of muscular arms, secure in her lover’s embrace. Secure, for the moment, in the fact that against all odds, she had managed to find a storybook hero to sweep her off her feet—and not sweep her under the rug.
One night, she reminded herself as she burrowed against the man’s bare chest. She hadn’t been promised anything beyond that.
But God, it had been worth it.
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