The Billionaire’s Bun In Her Oven - Ellie Rowe Page 0,70

disaster!”

“Now, hold on.” Bristle-stash and I both swivel around. It’s my blue-eyed friend from before. Now that I have free reign to stare, I’m hitting myself for not looking earlier. He’s terribly smooth-looking for someone covered in a shelf’s worth of wine.

Oh, God, I did that, didn’t I? And on such a nice, and definitely expensive suit. Little dots of red wine fleck his sandy blonde hair and there’s something astonishingly familiar about him.

“The lady said it was an accident, my man.” He smiles as he looks at the shop owner. The owner looks puzzled, like he might recognize him, too, but isn’t sure. It’s enough to lower his decimal level a few notches.

“Accident or no accident, who is going to pay for this mess!”

“I will,” I’m bobbing my head between the two like a ping-pong ball. Did he just say he’ll pay for this? “I’ll have to pay for it, won’t I?” he grins as he shrugs. “I own the building.”

Holy shit. Holy shit, it’s Roger Zane! The well-known player, Roger Zane, who owns this building, including this wine boutique that I half destroyed. Way to go, Natalie.

“Don’t worry, my friend, I’ll send a crew to help clean this up. Thank you for keeping a sharp eye out on my investment, but I assure you,” he turns to me now, his blue eyes taking a presumptuous scan of my body, “this kind of thing happens all the time.”

The shop manager’s mustache twitches, but he calms down. I guess that settles that.

“I’ll just uh… go and grab a mop,” the shop owner mumbles. “Thank you, Mr. Zane.”

If my arms weren’t full of wine bottles, I’d clap.

“Thank you, Mr….” I pause like I don’t know who he is. Why not tease him a bit?

“Roger Zane.” He flashes me another smile and extends a hand. I’m chock full of wine, so instead, he reaches out and slowly pulls a bottle from my arms. The base of it slides up the length of my cleavage before it’s freed from my grasp.

“Thank you,” I smile coyly, and extend my free hand to grasp his. He squeezes it tightly, closing the distance between us a little. A thought strikes me. I’m a single woman, after all, and tonight’s a night to celebrate, right?

“I’m terribly sorry about all this, and your suit!” I wince while looking down at the stains, “but, let me try to make it up to you?” I arch my eyebrow to let him know where this is headed. He looks rather surprised — which surprises me. Doesn’t this shit happen to him all the time?

“I was just about to bring these bottles up to my room. I’d love to share a glass or two with you. For your trouble?” He gives me a wry smile, so I press on. “I know you own the store and all, but I promise I’ll pay for these myself.” I squeeze the bottles together, knowing full well they’re pushing against my breasts.

His eyes flick down to my chest for a moment, then back up to me.

“I’d be delighted, Miss...”

“Natalie. Natalie Ashcroft,” I check out sheepishly while Roger makes a call for a clean up crew. Then we hit the elevator together.

“The deluxe suite?” he asks as I push the button. I smile.

“What can I say, I like the view,” he chuckles as he slides closer to me.

“Likewise.”

We make it into my apartment and set down the rescued wine on the counter. I bend down, right in front of him, of course, to fish out the corkscrew. As I arch back up, he’s now very close to me.

Good.

I turn around so our chests are touching. Oh, this is already fun. I haven’t been this close to a man who wasn’t my attorney’s assistant in what feels like months. God, how I miss the chase! And Roger Zane is quite the catch. Catch and release, of course, but a catch, nonetheless.

I shake my head, tutting as I gently finger the lapel of his suit.

“I’ve really made a mess, haven’t I?” I ask, biting my lip apologetically. It’s my first time back in the saddle after a while, so I’m allowed to be a little cliché, okay? “Maybe after we open the wine, we could get you cleaned up?”

I hand him the bottle and corkscrew before swishing my way to the wine glasses. By the time I’ve returned, he’s got the cork popped with a devilish look in his eye. He pours, at the proper angle for a cab,