Page 67 of Marrying the Billionaire Single Dad

"Hold on," I hiss. "I am getting tired of being dragged around by you, like I am a sack of potatoes."

"Be grateful I didn’t throw you over my shoulder and whip your arse for your impertinence. Oh, wait. I already did that." He chuckles.

I scowl. "Can you get any more abhorrent?"

"Can you get any more cranky?"

"You’re calling me cranky?" I yell, "You—"

"Julia, everything okay?" I glance up to find Isla planting herself in our path.

"Yeah, need some help?" Liam prowls up to place an arm around her shoulders.

She shakes it off. "Back off, this is my friend." She sets her jaw.

"And he’s not," Liam drawls. "All the more reason I’d be happy to step in, if the situation demands."

"What?" I frown at him. "No, I… I’m good."

"You sure?" Liam glances between us. "Say the word and I—"

"You heard the lady," Damian growls. "Now, piss off."

"OMG," I throw up my hands, "I’ve had enough of this possessive caveman act."

"I haven’t even started." Damian grabs my arm, "We’re leaving. Julia’s coming with me. End of story. Anyone have a problem with that?"

Silence; the crowd glances at us. Then Arpad scratches his jaw, "Can I borrow your bachelor pad at The Shard, considering you’ll be wanting to move to a townhouse in Primrose Hill with the rest of the married folk?"

Damian stiffens, then draws himself up to his full height, "That won’t be happening, I’m afraid. This is purely a transactional friends-with-benefits arrangement." He turns to me, "Besides, I’ve sworn never to marry."

22

Julia

"What the hell was that about?" I mumble into the helmet that the rock star had jammed on my head, along with the boots, gloves and heavy jacket—how the hell did he guess my size with such accuracy?— he’d asked me to don, before shoving me onto the bike that had been parked in the driveway of the ranch. Apparently, when you are stinking rich, you can get the hired help to drive your bike an hour out of the city to where you are, just so you have the pleasure of driving it home.

"What the hell waswhatabout?" Damian’s low drawl sounds in my ear.

I jump. Yeah, another thing you can buy when you’re loaded, these techno-advanced head gear, aka helmets with built-in mics, that you can use to communicate with each other... While the bike purrs between my legs, setting off pin-pricks of lust up my spine.

"Jeez, do you have to go scaring me?" I grumble.

"Scaring you, huh?" He accelerates and the bike shoots forward.

I yelp, clamp my arms even tighter around his lean stomach, which I admit, is no hardship; especially since I am plastered to his broad back, with my thighs spread wide enough to accommodate the tight flanks of said Rockosaurus. He leans into a curve without slowing down, and I tighten my grip around him.

He chuckles.

Jerk.

"What's with that proclamation that you are never going to marry?" I burst out.

The tires squeal loudly enough that my eardrums reverberate with the vibration and the scent of burning rubber assails me through the protective covering of my helmet. Shit, either he’s mad or this is just how he normally drives. "If you don’t want to answer a question you only have to say so. I mean, you may have a death wish pal, but I don’t. I—"

He slams on the brakes so suddenly that the back of the bike rises up in the air. I scream, hold onto him like he is the last mooring in a world gone mad. The bike rotates on its front wheel, does a complete 360 turn, before the back tire—the one I am positioned above—hits the tarmac, bounces once, then comes to a stop.

My limbs tremble and a bead of sweat runs down my spine. I bury my helmet-covered forehead into his back and stay where I am, not daring to move. I couldn’t if I tried—my legs have gone to sleep, my fingers are frozen, despite the gloves, partly from fear, partly from the cold wind that had buffeted me as he’d torn his way up the road.