A One Night Stand With the Billionaire Page 2

  “I love the way you smile,” he said. “It’s the very first thing I noticed.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Do you live here in London?” I asked quietly, emboldened by the alcohol and hedonistic mood. As we locked eyes, I found myself winding my arms around his neck.

  “Sometimes.” He dipped his head and kissed me just below the ear, pressing his lips against the soft skin at the edge of my jaw. “Do you?”

  “I just moved here,” I answered, closing my eyes as he repeated the kiss on the other side, leaving a trail of raw nerve endings in his wake. “Got a new job. I start tomorrow.”

  He nodded silently and naughtily slipped his hands inside the back of my dress. “Does that mean I have to tuck you into bed at a certain time?”

  I laughed nervously at just the thought and struggled to keep my cool. “Not at all. The night’s young.”

  The tip of his thumb grazed my ribs, electrifying my skin and causing my heart to palpate and stutter in my chest.

  “Another drink then?”

  How about ten of them? To calm my nerves.

  “Vodka tonic?” I said, giving a grateful nod.

  He disappeared with a wink and easily found his way through the masses of gyrating people, leaving me to stare after him in a daze, still wondering if I was dreaming after all.

  Okay, is this really happening? Am I awake right now? I pinched my skin discreetly between two fingernails. Did I even get off the plane? Maybe I’m passed out somewhere at JFK.

  I giggled at my own foolishness, staring at the precise spot where I’d lost sight of my captivating dance partner in the crowd. I’d gone to London for a fresh start, to leave the old me behind and try something new, and he definitely qualified.

  As I was pondering my good fortune, a heavy hand clamped down on my shoulder, and I spun around to find myself face to face with a caricature of every drunken rugby player I’d ever seen. His bugged-out eyes shamelessly devoured me from head to toe.

  “Bless my eyes! It’s an angel, in the flesh. What do you say, love? Care for a dance?”

  For some reason, as an American, I often found myself caught off guard by the British lilt, which made everything sound a hell of a lot more charming than it actually was. Now, the living proof was standing right there in front of me, spilling that accent all over me with a whole pub’s worth of cider on his breath.

  “No, thank you...Chip,” I answered as politely as I could, taking note of the name on crumpled ID affixed to his jacket. “I’m waiting for someone.”

  My refusal was plain and clear in any version of English, North American or otherwise, yet his unwelcomed hand remained. In fact, his stubby fingers actually tightened and yanked me a step closer.

  “We’ll make it a quick one then.” A cloud of beer breath wafted into my face as he towered over me, peering down my dress. “I swear you’ll like it. We can—”

  “The lady said no.”

  The British brute released me, and I whirled around to see my dazzling savior standing behind us with a drink in each hand. Long gone was the charming smile, the playful affectation, replaced by an almost predatory gleam flashing across his face, with a chilling threat flickering in his eyes. It was truly scary that someone so gorgeous could look so equally frightening, especially considering that I’d willingly gone off with him by myself.

  While Chip took a giant step back, obviously interested in self-preservation, he pulled up suddenly short, gawking openly at his face. “Oh my goodness,” he said with a gasp, his jaw dropping open with sheer astonishment. “Are you—”

  “Just leaving.”

  The drinks were pressed into the hands of two other grateful patrons just before my mystery date threw a deliberate arm around my shoulder and steered me away. I followed obediently, barely daring to glance up at him till we were back outside and on the other side of the street.

  “So I guess we’re leaving,” I said.

  “Would you care for some desert?” he asked me.

  The way he was looking at me, I wasn’t sure if he really meant desert, or if it was some kind of sexual innuendo.

  I knew if I didn’t leave this very second, there was a very high chance I was going to sleep with him. I was one of those hopeless romantics looking for love. And I didn’t do fuck buddies, booty calls, or one-night stands.

  But I was sure this was heading toward something. The Walk of Shame? No, the Walk of Awesome!

  With a smile on my face, I turned around and followed his eyes to a little restaurant tucked into the trees behind us. It was small but fancy enough to have a valet situated out front, waving off the passing cars, and the sign in front read, “Gourmet French dining.”

  “Come on,” he said automatically, then headed up the street without a second thought, tugging me behind him. “It looks like they’re still open.”

  I followed for a few seconds, then dug in my heels when we got close. As willing as I was to do just about anything to prologue my time with the playful Adonis, I knew I didn’t have the money for a place like that, where a simple plate would probably cost half a month’s rent. Not only that, but we weren’t exactly black tie; the two of us looked like we’d just come from a rave. I couldn’t help but imagine the French chef from The Little Mermaid hurling cooking knives at us until we vacated the premises. “Wait.” I stared up at the intimidating storefront uncertainly. “This looks really expensive, and I’m not really dressed for—”

  “You’re dressed for anything. You look beautiful.”

  All my hesitation came to a screeching halt as I stared up at him, feeling more blissfully happy than I ever had in my life. Does he really think that? He, of all people, thinks I’m the beautiful one?

  “Besides,” he said, grabbing my hand and urging me forward once more, “I have no intention of going in through the front...”

  With the practiced skill of someone who had done it many times before, my mysterious new tour guide slipped us past security and through a pair of swinging metal doors that led directly into the kitchen.

  At first, I was nervous. After all, my French wasn’t all that good. Also, I was pretty sure we were in a place where no unauthorized personnel should have been. I cringed into his side, dreading our inevitable moment of capture, but when a white-aproned chef leapt out in front of us, his furious demeanor melted into a smile.

  “Bonsoir, Marcel.” The cook’s uppity, hyper mood changed on the spot, and he rushed forward, looking utterly delighted. “Voila! Comment allez-vous?! Ca fait longtemps!” He caught my man by the face and kissed him twice on both cheeks, even going so far as to ruffle his dark hair as he ducked playfully away.

  “J’ai voyage.”

  “Ah, oui? New York?”

  “Et d’autre lieux.” He grinned again before glancing down at me and reverting quickly to a language we could both understand. “Listen, Marcel, you don’t happen to have any leftover dessert lying around, do you? See, we are starving, and—”

  “Absolument! Un moment!”

  Who would’ve known that my mystery man had these kinds of connections? As the chef hurried off, he turned back to me with a smile, squeezing his arm tighter around my shoulder. “Do you like crème puffs?”

  I stared back in amazement, feeling more and more like I was caught in some kind of dream that made no sense at all but was the most wonderful dream of all time. “Who doesn’t?” I retorted.

  “You make a good point.” He grinned again, then turned to accept the parcel the chef was handing to him. It was emblazoned on the side with the name of the restaurant, but judging by the swirls of chocolate and sugar, a few personal touches had clearly been added.

  “Bon appetit!”

  “Merci!” he said graciously, waving the parcel as he backed us to the door, still wearing that boyish grin. “A bientot!”

  Then, without another word, the two of us hurried off into the night, arm in arm, with the London streetlights glistening around us, the silver moonlight nipping
at our heels, and some delicious sweets tucked under the arm of a deliciously sweet man I was just getting to know.

  Chapter 3

  That settles it. I’ve fallen right into some kind of weird dream, something too good to possibly be true. That man sitting beside me can’t be real. None of this can be. Surely it’s nothing more than a fairytale...

  He had promised. My English fantasy had promised that we would simply eat our crème puffs, and then he would walk me back to my hotel. As magical as the night had been, I had to start a brand new job in the morning, one I’d moved across the entire Atlantic to take. The field was highly competitive, and I couldn’t risk not being on my game, even if the guy who bought me the dessert was sweeter than the dessert itself.

  “I want to take you to my home, but I can’t,” he said.

  I bit my lip and forced myself to ask the question. “Are you married?”

  “More like...I’m under siege.”

  I laughed. “What?”

  “Paparazzi.”

  “Seriously?”

  He grinned.

  Okay, he had to be kidding. We started talking about everything and I swear there wasn’t those endless awkward silences. The conversation flowed naturally, both of us laughing and having the best time. We were never at a loss for words. I bet we could talk like this all night long. I could swear that the chemistry between us was off the charts.

  My breath caught, my head swooned, I was floating on air, and those pesky butterflies were fluttering in my stomach. I lingered on his every word. I loved the way he laughed. He said and did everything perfectly. He was so sweet, so charming, so smooth, so dashing.

  And before we knew it, we had walked up to an apartment complex right on the riverbank. All I could do was stare up at him in wonder as he fished a key out of his pocket and started fiddling with the door. The building was brick, old and with plenty of cracks to show it, covered in a charming blanket of ivy here and there. The broken mailbox dangling from the hinges out front gave it even more character; it was a place that no one would soon forget.

  “Do you own an apartment here?” I asked quietly.

  “Yes. It’s a place where no one can find me.”

  “A secret hideaway?”

  A love shack?

  “Yes, but that’s not where we’re going.” He glanced over his shoulder, still fiddling with the lock, and gave me a quick smile as the door opened with a squeal. “C’mon. I’ll take you to the roof. The view is simply divine. And I can’t wait to kiss you under the light of a million stars.”

  I smiled. “It sounds romantic.”

  Laughing and squeezing his hand softly, I followed him up a creaky wooden staircase, past floor after floor of apartments, before we came to a stop in front of a wooden door. I walked through and he locked the door behind us. I blinked around in amazement, holding his hand tightly as he led me onto a moonlit, open-air patio on the rooftop. He put on some soft music from his phone and we both laughed. I smiled up at the bright, twinkling stars that lit the night sky. A cast iron patio set sat in the center of the space, and brightly colored flowers occupied ceramic pots that seemed to sit on every open surface.

  By far, though, the most magical thing about the secret little hideaway was the view, one that no travel agency could ever put a price on. It overlooked the entire city and offered a panoramic vision of the river stretched out toward the horizon on the other side, all nestled beneath a blanket of glittering stars.

  It's mind-blowing!

  “I-I can’t believe it,” I murmured, wandering as close as I dared to the edge and peering over into the tranquil water just below. “This is so beautiful, like a painting or something. How did you find this place?” I asked, but even as the last lilt of my question fell out of my mouth, I knew I wouldn’t get the answer I sought.

  Sure enough, when I turned around, my beautiful escort was simply brushing off my inquiry with a casual shrug. He was sitting on a thick fur blanket situated just close enough to feel the warmth of the torches while still offering an unobstructed, breathtaking view of the velvety black canopy above, speckled with diamond-like stars.

  “Dessert?” he said, arching his brow.

  The second he took the pastries out of the box, a rumble of my stomach let me know just how hungry I really was. I hadn’t filled it with much other than alcohol, and just the sight of the dainty and delectable treats made my mouth water in delight.

  I sank down beside him with a little grin on my face, then folded my legs beneath me. We both dug into the box with our bare hands. As effusive as his chef friend was, he forgot to include silverware or utensils of any kind, but we didn’t care. We laughed a bit as we tried to keep the sweets from falling apart in our fingers as we took little bites. Then, with our fingers sticky and our mouths full, we finally lay back on the furry blanket.

  “So...what do you think of our fair town thus far?”

  I glanced over at the man lying beside me, then froze completely, breathlessly mesmerized by what I saw. It seemed to be the first clear look I had of him, because the bar was too dusky, the club was too dark, and my eyes had been closed half the time in the alley. Now, though, I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

  His skin was quite tan for a Brit, though any New Yorker that shade might have considered himself too pale. Of course, it was difficult to tell much about his complexion in the silvery rays of the moon, and those beams seemed to take on a life of their own as they danced in his dark eyes. His hair was almost black, with gentle waves that fell gracefully to the edge of his jaw; it was a bit long but fashionable, a style that would have suited a seventeenth-century poet or a mischievous pirate king. His body was fit for the cover of any magazine, if not an exhibit at the Smithsonian, a physique so ludicrously out of place in the mortal world that I was sure it had to be some sort of colossal joke. His movements and gestures were as smooth as his voice, done with the effortless grace of a man who was very comfortable in his perfect skin, no matter where he happened to be or what—or who—he happened to be doing.

  By far, though, the most captivating thing about him was his eyes. I could easily lose my entire self in his gaze, see the whole world in those phenomenal orbs. It was hard to pin down the exact color, but it was somewhere between dark chocolate and espresso and just as rich and sweet and revitalizing as both of those. A twinkle of mischief and adventure danced just beneath the surface, just waiting to be set free.

  “That bad, huh?”

  His voice jerked me back to the present, and I struggled for a moment to remember what he’d asked me. “Bad?” I said, my face flushing. I shook my head quickly as my senses returned to me. “Oh! No. It’s just, uh...a little too soon to tell.” I twisted back around on the blanket, locking my eyes firmly on the stars. “It’s only my first night.”

  “Your very first?” he asked in surprise.

  I nodded silently.

  He leaned back and looked at me with a thoughtful gaze. “We must make it memorable then.”

  But you already have!

  Chapter 4

  We started talking about everything from sports, to movies, to music we both loved. Talking to him was so natural, like we known each other for a lifetime. We laughed and talked and kissed and snuggled together. I could spend the entire night just talking and laughing with him. I loved the way he made me laugh. We had this spark, this amazing connection.

  He told me a few stories about his childhood and I ended up telling him about my famous food fight story.

  “So you started it?” he asked.

  “Not on purpose!” I giggled.

  “Sure.”

  I playfully hit him. “You don’t believe me?”

  “So the food just slipped out of your hand?”

  “Yes, I was telling a story and my carrot flew out of my hand and hit Marcie in the face. She broke off a piece of her granola bar and whipped it right back at me.”

  “Like this?”

  The next thing I knew, I felt someth
ing cold and wet against my face, something that sent a bit of a chill through my whole body that had been significantly heated up just from being near him in that astoundingly gorgeous place.

  “What the fuck!?” I laughed.

  I bolted up with a shriek as a large dollop of crème dripped off my chin, and it tasted suspiciously like the dessert I’d been eating a second before. My mouth fell open in shock as I slowly lifted my eyes to see my mystery man staring back at me, the remains of the pastry arsenal still clutched in his hand.

  “What happened?” he asked with a dumbfounded gasp, his enormous eyes widening with faux concern. “I do believe someone smashed dessert all over your face.”

  I couldn’t seem to find my voice, couldn’t even blink. All I could do was stare in open-mouthed amazement at the enchanting person sitting beside me, a perfect picture of innocence, haloed by the silver light of the moon. “I-I can’t believe—”

  Another drip of crème slid down my cheekbone as I stared at him in shock.

  “I can’t believe you just did that.”

  “Me?” He shook his head, scooting closer to me on the blanket. “Why, I’d never! How can you even suggest... Why, I don’t even know your name!”

  “Don’t!” I held a hand up between us and glared at my attacker through the mask of sugar and chocolate. “Don’t you dare make me smile right now. This is not funny.”

  “I agree.” He slid even closer, his lovely eyes sweeping over my face with heartbreaking concern. “This is terrible...and on your first night here!”

  A reluctant laugh finally broke through my disdain, but it left quickly and was followed by another unimpressed glare. Of course, that was followed by more helpless chuckling as he climbed delicately on top of me.

  “Just hold on,” he soothed with the air of a seasoned rescue pilot. “I will get you out of this mess, but you must hold very, very still.”