Page 8 of Mister Daddy

4

Carter

The girl looks up at me with wide eyes. It’s interesting. She’s got a ripe, curvaceous body that can obviously handle men. And yet the expression in her eyes is one of sweetness and innocence.

“Is that so?” she murmurs around a straw. The clear liquid looks like water, but it could be another mixed drink.

“Yes,” I growl, leaning an elbow against the sticky bar top. “I’m Carter Jones.”

She holds out a soft hand for me to shake. “Abigail Porter. My friends call me Abby. Nice to meet you, Mr. Jones.”

“Pleased to meet you as well, Abby.”

“Are we friends?” she asks in a soft voice.

“We will be,” is my answering growl.

This gets a smile out of her, and my heart nearly explodes. Oh shit. How is she doing this to me? I’m used to mingling with socialites and debutantes galore. Women who have invested hundreds of thousands of dollars into their physical looks, and none of it ever got to me. But one small smile from this curvy brunette, and suddenly I’m ready to take her hard right against the bar? It’s crazy.

But Abby has no idea. She steps back slightly, nodding to the two girls at her side.

“These are my friends, Jessica and Caitlyn.”

I allow my eyes to meet those of the two other girls as we shake hands but they don’t hold my interest. They’re more of the same, and could blend into the wallpaper as far as I’m concerned.

“It’s nice to meet all of you,” are my insincere words. “Is this your first cruise?”

“Do we look like virgins?” Jessica counters, smirking while flipping her hair back. Her crassness surprises me. Based on the glassiness of her eyes, I’d guess the comments are coming from the alcohol and not the girl.

“That’s a trick question,” I say in a smooth voice. “If I say yes, you’ll be offended. If I say no, you might walk away.”

She laughs. “Then no, it’s not my first cruise.”

“Well, I’m glad you decided to join us this time,” are my courteous words.

Quickly, I look over Jess and Caitlyn. They don’t seem familiar. Good. It’s probably safe to assume I haven’t slept with either of them. Just like guys, girls have a code about sleeping with people their friends have already hooked up with. If that had happened, my chances with Abby would have been over before they’d even begun.

“So what brings a guy like you into a nightclub?” Abby asks, shooting me a sweet smile. I know. My suit sticks out among this terribly-dressed crowd that smells like sweat. I should have changed into something less formal, but I came here straight from my office on-board.

“I came to check things out,” I say smoothly. A quick scan of the room shows that no one’s listening. Not that they could hear with the hip hop song blaring from the DJ’s speakers. “I’m actually the owner of this boat, believe it or not.”

Abby laughs, showing off perfect white teeth. “Wow, nice line. Do you always say that? Do people even fall for it? I thought boat owners looked like Richard Branson or Aristotle Onassis, and youdefinitelydon’t look like them.”

People always think I’m lying the first time I tell them that I own a boat, much less multiple boats. Plus, both Richard Branson and Aristotle Onassis are old and creaky, not to mention deceased in Ari’s case, so I’m not bothered or offended.

“I can prove it,” I tell Abby, leaning closer so that she can hear me. The smell of flowers and sugar surrounds her body. I take a subtle breath, drawing in her scent. Amazing.

Slowly, I withdraw my keycard from my pocket and hand it over for the girls to scrutinize. It’s a black and gold keycard, just like any other, except the word “CEO” is engraved right below my name. At first, Abby’s eyes are skeptical, but they widen when she reads the card.

“You’re being serious,” she gasps, clearly shocked. “You own this ship?”

“And a bunch of others just like it,” I answer. “Well, notjustlike it. Some are bigger, some smaller. One has a ropes course. We’re going to unveil another ship at the end of the year that has a go kart racetrack on the top deck.”

Her jaw drops. “You must be a millionaire.”

Normally, I get extremely cautious when people talk about my money because usually, it means they want something. Coming from Abby, though, it’s endearing. She doesn’t seem like the kind of person to use someone for his money. Though I’ll admit, I don’t exactly know the woman well yet.

“Billionaire, actually,” I correct her. All three girls stand back, shocked. I don’t blame them. Everyone talks about billionaires, but how often do you actually meet one?