The Billionaire's Princess - Ava Ryan Page 0,3

it, but I will.

She looks bewildered. Uncertain.

Also unwillingly intrigued and hopeful.

“You’re not married, are you?” she finally asks.

“No,” I say, deciding not to add that if I were married, I’d lie my ass off about it for a chance to spend the night screwing her senseless.

Something in her expression reluctantly eases. The sight of this softening loosens up my chest and allows me to breathe.

“Felon? Sociopath? Pedophile? Fraudster?”

“Nope.” My ears burn. “Just a guy intrigued enough by a woman to stick his neck out a little. Risk making a fool of himself. Which is not something I normally do. Take my word for it.”

“Well,” she says, her voice somewhat warmer as she breaks eye contact and smooths her hair behind her ear. I’m not going to lie: it’s something of a relief to be out from under her high beam. The intensity of the pull I feel toward her when we look at each other is starting to mess with my head. “You’ve come all this way. A good couple meters from your table. You may as well have a drink. Fuck off immediately after that.”

“Works for me,” I say, relieved.

We start to smile at each other, but she catches herself.

“As long as you understand that this is just a drink until my friend gets here.” She hitches up her chin. Gives me a stern look. “I’m not going upstairs to the hotel with you. Or anywhere with you.”

The statement is patently absurd. The electricity is so thick between us that you can almost hear it crackle.

“You don’t believe that, do you?”

My curiosity gets the best of me, and maybe her innate honesty gets the best of her. Whatever. I wait, my entire existence poised for her response. She hesitates, her color high as her attention dips to my mouth. That feels like answer enough.

Until a pair of shadows looms over our table, breaking this growing spell between us.

“So much for drinks and dinner with us,” Ryker says, automatically turning up the wattage of his toothpaste-commercial smile for the benefit of an attractive female. “Can’t say I blame you for ditching us, though, Damon. Want to make the introductions?”

Since I don’t want to admit to my brothers that I haven’t managed to get her name yet, I decide to start with them.

“The ugly one here is my middle brother Griffin,” I tell her wearily, eager to get these two jokers out of the way before they cause any undue mischief. She laughs in a display of flashing white teeth and dimples that makes something swoop inside me. “The stupid one is my youngest brother Ryker.”

“Carly.” She shakes both their hands in turn. “Pleasure.”

Carly.

Even her name pleases me.

“You can do so much better than this guy,” Ryker says, jerking his head at me. “Don’t you want to reconsider now that you know you have better options? Maybe ditch him and come to dinner with us?”

“No,” I say sourly. “She doesn’t. Bye.”

“I can almost always answer questions directed at me,” she tells me. “I’m very proud of that skill. I learned it in primary school.”

I scowl. Meanwhile, my brothers nudge each other and grin with delight. I can only imagine the commentary I’ll receive from them later.

“But I have promised Damon a drink, boys,” she continues. “I’m regretting my decision already, but there you are.”

“Ah,” Ryker says. “Well, if you change your mind, we’ll be happy to—”

“Bye,” I repeat.

More laughter at my expense, followed by good-natured waves as they head back to their table, leaving me alone with Carly and a pounding heart.

She raises a brow at me. Represses a grin under the guise of pursing her lips. “Where’s my drink? I was promised a dirty martini.”

“I was promised a dirty martini,” I say, signaling for the server to bring us two more.

“Your brothers seem quite lovely.”

“They’re a nightmare.” I throw in a dramatic shudder just to make sure there’s no further question of her taking off with one of them. “Between the nose picking and the bedwetting, they’ve disgraced the family a thousand times over.”

She laughs again, this time a full-throated edition that engages her sparkling eyes and dimples.

I watch greedily, trying to remember that this is not my first smile, laugh, flirtation, woman or, God willing, hookup. But feeling my skin sizzle as I try to dial back my excitement, it sure feels like it.

“Christ,” I mutter, shaking my head at myself and ruffling my hair with both hands.

She looks bemused. “What?”

I tell myself to slow it down. But the