Tell Me You're Mine (The British Billionaires #1) - J. S. Scott Page 0,7
grip. Attractive or not, he’s way too pushy, and he crossed the line from inquisitive to disturbing by reading my text messages.
I finally found my voice because I couldn’t let him off scot-free with my silence.
“I don’t know who you think you are, but I was having a private conversation. Invading my space to read my messages was just…weird and intrusive.”
He shrugged a set of very broad shoulders. “Not very private if you’re having that discussion on a jet with several hundred other passengers, beautiful.”
I opened my mouth to give the jerk a lecture, and then closed it again.
Beautiful? He called me beautiful.
I wasn’t used to hearing that, and he’d stunned me into silence.
Was he actually hitting on me?
No! Of course he isn’t. He’s using me for sport. He’s getting some kind of twisted amusement out of this whole situation.
I’d never been a woman who would make any guy look at me twice. Hell, they didn’t even linger the first time. I was a blonde, but more often than not, I tamed the curly locks into submission by wearing them in a contained style away from my face. Other than my light hair, I had very few memorable physical assets.
I’d gained my freshman fifteen even before I’d started college, and then that weight gain had turned into a sophomore twenty.
My five-foot-ten height scared most men away. In heels, I was taller than most any guy in a room. Okay, okay. Even in flats, I matched or towered above a room full of people. I felt big, awkward, and I had to remind myself often not to slouch so I felt more comfortable.
I was wearing flats today, and I hadn’t bothered with much makeup since I’d been getting ready to board a twelve-hour flight. I’d braided my crazy hair, thrown on a pair of jeans with a casual blouse, and headed toward the airport, feeling utterly gutted.
I was as far from beautiful as a woman could get. Especially today.
I wasn’t exactly down on myself. I was intelligent. I knew that. I’d gotten a ton of scholarships to help get me through college, and then law school at Harvard.
However, I’d gotten totally screwed in the gene pool lottery, but was there really any harm in being realistic? I was frightfully tall, big-boned, and bordering between curvy and plump. In all honesty, it wasn’t exactly a shocker that no guy had ever been complimentary about my physical appearance.
I was really annoyed that the quintessential Mr. Orgasm sitting next to me was using me to play some twisted game.
“Don’t call me beautiful. Don’t try to distract me from the point I was trying to make. It was rude and very creepy that you were reading my messages.” I shifted uncomfortably in my seat as I spoke. For some unknown reason, I was looking at his startling green-eyed stare again, like his perfect features were a magnet that drew my eyes to him.
Angry with myself for drooling over a man whose only intention was to needle me, I sharply turned my head to look out the window again.
It doesn’t matter if he’s the most attractive man I’ve ever seen. Ted Bundy had been attractive and charming at times, and look how that had turned out for almost every woman who crossed his path. This guy is obviously a psycho wrapped up in a very desirable package, which makes him all the more dangerous.
He cleared his throat. “I’m not trying to…distract you. I’m just trying to figure out why a woman like you has never had an orgasm.”
I huffed. “That would be none of your business.”
He’s definitely a creeper if he’s digging for information about my nonexistent sex life.
“Maybe I want to make it my business. Maybe I want to understand,” he answered in a deceptively casual tone. “And I’d love to know what happened with Lancaster International.”
I kept my head turned toward the window as I snapped, “Do you always get what you want?”
“Yes. Almost always,” he answered.
I ignored his arrogance as I realized that he’d asked about Lancaster International.
Holy shit! Had he been reading my texts for that long? The knowledge that he’d been surveying my conversation with Kylie since the very beginning made me livid. “Lancaster International would also be none of your business,” I said in a snippy tone that I hoped would shut him up.
God, he really had to stop talking. I didn’t want to hear another word spoken in that annoyingly hot accent.