The Billionaire's Christmas Bride (Big Bad Billionaires #3) - L. Steele Page 0,141
And when he'd smiled...his teeth were perfect. Which is bloody odd in England. I mean, when was the last time I'd met anyone with even teeth... Other than the alphahole... And the Seven...who had clearly spent a fortune on the dentist. But normal people like me... Hell... We can't afford that kind of dental work. So how had the homeless guy swung that, huh? I turn to call out, but the sidewalk is empty. Geez, he must have doubled his speed to get away from me or something. I shake my head. The shoes did fit him though. Chalk it up as one more good deed for Dr Grumpy McDick. He has his redeeming points... A lot of them, actually.
Too bad it isn't enough... Is it? I shake my head. Stop overthinking this. Just march back for the last time and tell him how you feel. As easy as baking banana bread, which would be done in double-quick time in his oven. Fine, fine... Don't think about his kitchen, or his equipment... No, definitely don’t think about the tool he hides in his pants either. Get on with it; don't back out, bitch. I stomp inside the apartment, and head for the elevator door, which glides open. Shit, even the elements are working with me on this.
I reach the penthouse, push the door open and walk in. I cross the living room, pause only to place my satchel and handbag on the center table, then peek into the kitchen. There's no one there. Hmm. I pivot, head for the bedroom, when I spot movement. I pivot head toward the sliding doors at the far end of the living room, pulling them aside. I step outside and onto the terrace, walk another few steps and spot the hot tub... This one's sunken into the decking with steps leading down, and at the other end of it...is him. I’m drawn to him like chocolate to a clean surface... know what I mean? I pause at the tub.
He's sprawled in the water that froths around his waist, the bubbles covering the bottom half of his body. Not that I have any doubt about the state of his undress. He leans back, raises a bottle of whiskey. His biceps bulge and his shoulders flex. He brings the bottle to his mouth, swigs from it. The tendons of his throat move as he swallows.
I am instantly wet.
He raises his other hand, places a cigar between his lips. I rake my gaze over his features, watch him watch me with unblinking eyes, as I take another step forward. I reach the edge of the tub. The water writhes below me. My heartbeat writhes in my chest.
He glares at me from under hooded eyelids. He lowers the cigar, blows out a cloud of cigar smoke. The scent of cloves and spices, of darkness and lust, passion and fucking... Hell... I'll always associate the scent of cigar smoke with wild, out-of-my-head desire.
He doesn't move, doesn't say a word.
I shuffle closer, my toe brushing against something smooth. There's a plop as it falls in. I glance down to find an egg timer floating on the surface.
I bend my knees, reach over and scoop it up.
He glances down at the object, then up at my face. His lips twist, he swallows and opens his mouth, and I'm sure he's going to say something. Instead, he takes another swig from the bottle of whiskey. The skin across his knuckles stretches white... Huh? I peer across the distance and at his features... Lines radiate from the corners of his eyes, and the hollows under his cheekbones seem more pronounced. Why had I not noticed that before?
He keeps his gaze focused on my face, the skin around his mouth tightening. That's it—something’s on his mind. But what? Why would the most confident man I have ever met seem unsure of himself.
"Why are you so on edge?" I laugh nervously. "I'd think you were going to pop a marriage proposal or something,” I mutter, “if I didn't know you better."
His face pales. My gaze widens. I take in the way he holds onto the whiskey bottle. The skin of his knuckles stretch white. Then the bottle slips from his grasp, hits the decking and rolls away... "Fuck." He swears, then straightens. His lips twist. An expression I can't fathom grips his features.
"Holy shit." I gasp, "Is that what you are going to do...? I gulp. "No way. You aren't, are you?"