The Billionaire's Christmas Bride (Big Bad Billionaires #3) - L. Steele Page 0,69

stalk to the door, then pause. "I’ll pay you for the two days you spent with me, and we leave tomorrow."

I pivot, move forward.

Wait for it. Wait for it.

"Hey," she calls out. "What did you mean? Where are we going?"

I turn, glance over my shoulder, "To meet my family of course."

"It’s not yet Christmas." She rises to her feet and the water flows from her shoulders down her waist, to splash onto the almost-filled bath tub. Her blonde hair curls over her forehead, sticks to her shoulders. The scent of…chocolate—of course, what else—laced with something honeyed and spicy swirls through the air.

"It’s almost Christmas." I raise a shoulder.

"It’s not the same," she scowls.

"It is now,” I curl my lips, “because I say so."

She swallows, "And if I say no?"

"Are you saying no?" I glare at her.

She pales, opens her mouth.

I shake my head.

She purses her lips shut.

"Well?" I snap.

"No," she replies.

"What?" I growl.

“No, I’m not saying no.” She winces, "I mean, yes, I’ll come with you to meet your family. But that New Year’s Eve thing? You can forget that."

I glower at her.

She juts out her chin, snaps back her shoulders, and doesn’t blink.

Bloody hell, that sass of hers is back, thank fuck. Damn, if I don’t hate it when her spirit is cowed.

"Fine."

"Fine." She tosses her head.

I turn.

She calls out again, "But the roads, the storm..."

I can’t stop the grin that splits my face.

I wipe it off of my face, turn, "What storm?"

"Uh, the one that caused the roads to close and the electricity—"

The overhead lights come on and she blinks. The brightness pours over us, envelops us, cuts the space between us as if it’s a barrier. How strange. Apparently, this time, the darkness had been kinder.

"Oh, and Princess?"

She angles her head.

"Shut off the tap, will you?"

27

"Life is uncertain; eat dessert first."

-From Amelie's diary

Amelie

I stare through the window from the backseat of the luxurious SUV. We’d left early this morning, heading toward the outskirts of Durham, where Weston’s family home is.

Max whines from the back. I turn around and pat his head. Weston has his faults, but he hasn’t stinted when it comes to Max. The car has a specially fitted pet booster seat in the rear, complete with a tether attached to his harness to keep him safe. Max licks my hand, then turns to glance out of the window. I swear, the puppy is more human than many of the two-legged variety of animals I’ve met… Present company included, of course. I shoot a sideways glance at the man in the seat next to me. His hair brushes against his collar, his beard seemingly fuller than what it was a few hours ago… Is he sprouting hair by the minute? Does it mean when he drags those whiskers across my pussy it will feel more intense than before? Ha, not possible. Whoever had said that once you go beard, you don’t go back, was bloody right.

He raises his hand and drags his fingers through that hair on his chin. I gulp, then squeeze my thighs together. Come on, you can’t be turned on by that simple act. I wriggle around in my seat. Get a life, woman. He misled you, remember? Made you think there was a storm outside that kept you marooned in the cabin, without electricity, when there was nothing of the kind taking place.

"What else did you lie to me about?" I mumble.

After that break-up in the bathroom… Could it be qualified as a break-up when we were never really together? Sure, in the carnal sense, I mean, but there was never any relationship between us, was there…?

Well, after the end of that relationship that never was and which shall never again be referred to by me, I’d stood there dumbstruck and naked and in the bath tub. The water had spilt over the sides and I had scrambled to shut off the tap. Of course, the alphahole had had the last say there, as well. Damn, but I hate the man. Hate his superiority complex, hate how, without even trying, he’d managed to turn my life upside down.

"What do you mean?" his voice rumbles over me. His presence thrums in that enclosed space. His larger-than-life persona pushes down on my shoulders, keeps me pinned to my side of the back seat.

"The storm," I mutter, "you lied to me."

"Not my fault you didn’t check the weather."

"My phone didn’t have a signal…" I bite the inside of my cheek. I could have tried harder.