Page 28 of Misdeeds of a Billionaire

“Bring it on,” I rasped, feeling excitement bubble inside me as my thighs throbbed with anticipation.

“This man will keep you up all night,” he rasped, his mouth skimming over my skin. “Because you’re mine.”

He followed through with his promise.

But he lied. I wasn’t his, and he’d never be mine.

Because when morning came, I woke up to a cold reality and a matching set of cold blue eyes.

Chapter9

Odette

Isat up abruptly, covering my naked body with the sheet.

A man who looked like an older version of Byron sat casually in the chair, smoking a cigar at… my eyes darted to the clock… freaking ten in the morning.

“Who are you?” My hair whipped back and forth as I searched for Byron. I fought the urge to bring the sheet up to my chin, hiding myself. Why was this guy here?

His gaze evaluated me from top to bottom. I did the same.

His gray five-piece suit molded to the man perfectly. An air of ruthlessness swirled around him, his top lip curled in disgust. Along with a patriarchal nose and high cheekbones, the guy looked to be in good shape. And attractive, for his age. But it was the look in his eyes that set me on edge. His hair didn’t contain a single thread of silver, but it was clear he had to be at least in his sixties. It was perfectly styled, not a strand out of place.

“Again, who the fuck are you?” I hissed. “And what are you doing in my room?”

“This is my room.” The tone of his voice clearly portrayed I didn’t deserve a sliver of his attention. “I’m Senator Ashford and you are inmyroom.”

My brows furrowed, and I shook my head. “No, it’s not.”

His cobalt eyes flashed with irritation. “Yes, it is. Look at the bill on your nightstand and tell me what the name reads.”

The anxiety shot through me. I scooted over, careful not to expose my naked body. A glimpse on the receipt statedAshford.

I narrowed my eyes. “This doesn’t mean anything. Byron’s last name is Ashford too.”

“And who do you think finances him?” he spat out.

My brows furrowed. That made no sense. There wasn’t an ounce of Byron that screamed pampered. Arrogant, yes. Ruthless even. But not pampered.

Senator Ashford cleared his throat, narrowing his exacting gaze on me. His displeasure drifted through the air, permeating the room. Then, without warning, he stood up and I scooted backward, my back hitting the headboard of the hotel bed.

He reached into his pockets, pulling out a stack of bills and throwing them onto the bed.

“I’ll pay for your services since clearly my son hasn’t.”

Oh, he did not— “I’m not a whore,” I spat. “Who in the fuck do you think you are?”

He took three steps toward the bed and the air shifted. Tension was placid on my tongue.

“I’m Senator George Ashford, you insolent little girl.” Splotches of red crawled up my neck, my cheeks burning hot. “You will get dressed and get lost. In case your puny little brain”—what the actualfuck—“gets any ideas about going to the press. If you give my eldest a hard time, I will squash your family. Understood?”

Maybe this guy was high. I mean, everyone knew that a lot of those American politicians used and abused drugs.And power.

“You might be a senator back in the States,” I retorted coolly, feeling my anger simmering deep down in the pit of my stomach. “But you’re nobody here.”

He stared at me, devoid of any emotion. Except for the smile. Cruel. Vicious. Knowing.

“Did you expect him to propose?”Huh?I frowned. I was twenty-two. Marriage was hardly on my mind. It was one night—one incredible, amazing, fucking special night—and I knew better than to have any expectations. Maybe that we’d see each other for the next few days, but I hadn’t let my imagination run beyond that. “My sons have higher aspirations than to connect with the likes of you. Our kind doesn’t mix with yours.”