Gorgeous: Book One (Gorgeous #1) - Lisa Shelby Page 0,35

do. I really hope we can save it and restore her to her original beauty."

He spots the bottle of wine he sent to the room yesterday. "Do you mind?" he asks, gesturing to the unopened bottle.

"Go right ahead, sir. It's your wine. You paid for it, after all," I say, feeling a little feisty all of the sudden. He brings out a bit of a defiant, bratty side of me I've never known I had. I'm not sure what it is about him, but I do enjoy antagonizing him.

"Sassy, aren't we?" His attention is on me as he uncorks the bottle.

My response is to stick my tongue out at him, and he throws his head back and bellows out a laugh that warms my heart.

Ronan

I pour each of us a glass of wine and meet her near the couch. She picks up her computer and places it on the table in front of the couch where she takes a seat on the far end, grabs her wine, and then holds a throw pillow tightly to her chest with her hand not holding her glass.

When she cracked open her hotel door, and I saw just the smallest view of her, I told myself to turn and run away, but I didn't, and now here I sit on the opposite end of the couch from a living wet dream.

I could see her long, slender neck and her exposed shoulder through the crack of the door, and I nearly ripped it off its hinges. When she finally welcomed me into her room, and I turned around and found those long legs in those short boxers, I was speechless.

But those glasses. They aren't subtle and they aren't nerdy. She's got those big, sexy, brown-rimmed glasses on, and her hair is up, giving her a Hot for Teacher look that has me grabbing a pillow as well. I know she's covering up the fact that she doesn't have a bra on—oh hell yes, I noticed. I need a pillow to cover the hard-on I am hoping to keep at least at half-mast.

I know I said I came here to talk about work, but that isn't true. The truth is I have no idea why I'm here. I just couldn't stay away, and I don't know what to do now. I know I don't want to talk about work, but she isn't giving me a choice right now.

"So, what can I do for the meeting tomorrow? Is there anything I need to have prepped for you?"

We talk about the Prima for a bit, and I find an excuse to get closer to her by having her pull up the images on her computer. While we admire the magnificent building I hope to save tomorrow, our legs and arms brush each other here and there, and I know I'm just making it harder on myself. I fill her glass with more wine and retreat back to my corner on the couch with my pillow and use it as cover once again.

I haven't forgotten her comment from earlier in the evening, and I know I'm pushing it. Hell, I might even ruin the evening, but I have to try again.

"Olivia, why was being alone preferable when you were a child?"

Miraculously, she starts talking.

"The truth?"

"Always."

"Well, let's just say I didn't grow up quite the same way you did. Things started off okay, but my dad had a gambling problem, and he ended up owing some not so savory men a lot of money. He started working for them, doing I don't even know what, to pay off his debt. When I was six, my father was shot and killed."

She looks away as if there is more to this part of the story she isn't sharing with me. Imagining this gorgeous woman living an “unsavory” life, as she put it, has my heart pounding with a fierce sense of protection.

"After we lost my dad, my mom and I floundered for a while and it was hard, but that was better than after they found us. The men that my dad owed money to decided my mom needed to continue to work off his debt. I'll leave it up to your imagination, but I assure you that what you're thinking is correct but worse than you could ever imagine."

She takes a sip of her wine, but she seems steady. Her eyes aren't meeting mine, but I know this is hard for her. I can see her reliving her childhood as she