The Billionaire's Christmas Bride (Big Bad Billionaires #3) - L. Steele Page 0,105

view is nothing like that from the cabin, or from Weston’s mother's home. How funny I’d never been to his place. Where does he even live in London? It’s official, I am love with a man whose neuroses I know better than the basic stuff, you know, like his address, his favorite color. That’s me, I do everything upside down, like my life. Fuck me now. I hiccough again. "Sorry again," I mumble.

"The bar in the limo?" Isla reminds me. "I assume you drank of all the whiskey?"

"Nope," I say, all smug. "No whiskey for me. Never touching that stuff, from now on."

"O-k-a-y."

"I sucked down all the champagne because I am celebrating."

"You are?"

"Yeap." I walk back to the shelves in the corner of what passes for my kitchen space, and open the door. Scrounge around. There. I retrieve the boxed wine I’d been gifted with, God knows when. Now is the time to open it. I unscrew it, peel back the plastic seal thingy, then look around for a glass, and fuck it! I tilt it to my mouth, draw from it. The cold liquid hits my gullet and I almost gag. Ugh! Is that vinegar or what? "Argh," I gasp.

"What’s wrong?"

"Nothing." I place the boxed vinegar-that-had-once-been-wine back on the shelf and eye it. Do I dare drink more of it, or not? Shit, I can’t even decide on the small things in life anymore. My mind is well and truly broken, thanks to that, that… "Idiot." I swear down the phone. "Fucking wanker that he is. A tool. A reprobate. A prick of the first order."

"That, he is," Isla agrees. "So what are you doing back in your apartment?"

"Haven’t you heard anything I just told you?" I cry.

"I have, doll, and I think you love that about him."

"Oh." I pull out a chair and sit down with a thump. "That’s true, right?"

"So, what made you walk out on him?"

"He was…just insufferable," I snap.

"And?"

"And cock-headed."

"Which is an asset, I assume?"

I hear the smirk in her voice, "Isla, honestly…"

"Admit it, the sex was great."

"Off-the-walls hot," I admit.

"And despite his money, he decided to focus on becoming a doctor."

"True," I admit, reluctantly.

"And he’s good with dogs."

"And kids."

"And kids," she agrees. "So?"

"So?"

"What didn’t you like about him?"

"Well, I fell in love with him, for one."

"Hmm."

"What?"

"I mean, that was bound to happen. You set yourself up for that, girlfriend, when you agreed to go along with his fake relationship thingy."

"Hello, it was supposed to only be for a few days, and it was contingent on my never sleeping with him."

"That was clever of him, huh?"

"Was it?" I scrunch up my forehead. "You think so?"

"Of course, babe. He used reverse psychology on you. I mean, tell you not to sleep with him and—"

"—and of course, I’d only want to sleep with him." I reach for the wine, swig from it. Grimace. Argh! It’s worse than I thought. I set it back with a thump, then jump up and begin to pace.

"And then, he took me home to see his family."

"At Christmas."

"At Christmas." I rake my fingers through my hair. "And he was really cute with his nieces. Hell, the man reads Harry Potter."

She shrieks, "Whaat?"

I wince. "Pipe down," I plead. "You almost burst my eardrum there."

"He reads Harry Potter? How many men do you know who read Harry Potter?"

"He was reading it because he wanted to be able to discuss it with his niece.”

"No," she breathes.

"Yes." I hang my head.

"So, he fucks like a god, saves lives like he is God, and reads the kind of books that—"

"—make me want to worship his brain. Yeah," I scowl. When she puts it like that… "I mean, he’s not perfect, you know."

"No?"

"He has a beard. I mean, it’s unkempt, which is fine if you go in for that sexy just-rolled-out-bed-on-Christmas-morning look."

"Sexy Santa," she snickers.

What I wouldn’t give to see him in nothing but a Santa hat.

"Don’t call him sexy," I pout.

"But he is," she protests.

"I mean, I can call him sexy, but not you."

She stares at me.

"What?" I frown.

"Nothing." She clears her throat, "What else do you not like about him?"

"He’s overbearing, dominant, uh, commands me do stuff, overrides me a lot, hates chocolate—"

"Are you sure?"

"Well, he did eat the chocolate banana muffin batter I made," I offer.

She gives me a perplexed look. “Muffin batter?”

“It’s a long story...”

"Okaaay... So, he hates chocolate, but he ate what you made anyway."

"Hmm." And he did say that he was coming around to its taste especially when he licked it off