Page 13 of The Billionaire's Baby

I lower my head to hers.

4

Karina

He holds his lips close to mine, so close that I breathe in his air. So close that the heat of his body surrounds me, cocoons me. So close that I can hear his heart thud in his chest. Smell the salt of the sea mixed with that primal, dark maleness of him, the thing that had attracted me from the moment I’d seen him, a year ago in LA.

I’d walked into the conference room of my office, the sun had poured in through the windows, too bright, as always, in LA. The rays had framed this tall figure that had seemed to fill my entire line of sight. The light behind him had thrown his face into shadow while highlighting the rest of his magnificent physique.

The fitted formal shirt had stretched across his chest, only to be tucked into the waistband of his slacks that had molded to his thighs. He’d taken a step forward and the muscles of his legs had uncoiled. A primitive fear had gripped me then. This man—he was trouble. If he came closer, I’d be sucked into his presence, his larger-than-life persona that dominated the room and sucked the oxygen from the space. Then he’d walked out of the light and the full impact of his blue-grey gaze had smashed into my chest. I swear, I’d forgotten how to breathe… My lungs had burned; my stomach had bottomed out. My knees had buckled under me and I’d had to hold onto the back of the chair in front of me to keep myself upright. He’d stared at me, no hint of any emotion on his face. He’d looked me up and down with an expression I can only describe as cold and calculating.

"Karina?" He’d spoken my name and the deep timber of his voice had rolled down my spine, coiled in my belly, and heat had pooled between my legs. That’s when I’d known that I had to stay away from him. Keep as much distance as possible between me and his overpowering presence, the way he’d eaten me up with his gaze, had glared at me and peered into my soul as if he’d gleaned my secrets.

"Karina…" he whispers my name against my mouth and all of my senses pop to life; my pulse begins to race. I shove at his shoulders, and this time, he rolls off of me. Then rises to his feet. He holds out his hand to help me up; I ignore it.

I secure the sheet under my arms, then push myself up to standing position.

He peruses my features, his gaze intense. Heat sears my skin; my pulse pounds at my temples. There's no denying there's something between us. Shit, is that going to complicate the situation? Only if I let it. Which I am not going to do. Of course, not. I have more sense than to let that happen... Right?

I clear my throat, "you mentioned you could do anything you like with me?"

"Does that bother you?"

Yes.

Yes.

No.I scoff. "Nothing you do could possibly shock me."

"No?"

"It’s what I’d expect from you, needing props to enhance your performance in bed."

"Is that what you think?" He laughs and his entire face lights up. His grey-blue eyes seem to glow with some kind of inner joke, one I am obviously not privy to.

"Why don’t you enlighten me then?"

He shakes his head. "What would be the fun in that? Why can’t you simply let the events unfold, take things as they come?"

"Is that what you do?" I frown. "Let things come to you?"

He looks me up and down. "After all, you did come to me."

"After you insisted that I check the camera on your yacht."

"Were you doing anything better?"

"Anything else would have been better than having to be here."

He clicks his tongue. "That’s why you decided to stow away and fall asleep in my bed?"

I redden, then jut out my chin. "I was tired," I snap.

"So am I." He drags his fingers through his hair. "I don’t want to fight with you, Sparks, much as it is refreshing as a form of foreplay—"

"Hold on." I fold my arms across my chest. "Is that what you think this is?"

"Are you denying that the attraction between us makes you antsy? That it doesn’t make you want to throw yourself at me, and tear my clothes off, and jump me right now? That, as we speak, you’re not undressing me, wondering what I have on below these?" He hooks his finger in the waistband of his shorts, and of course, my gaze darts to his crotch, at the trail of hair that disappears, at the tent in his crotch that he makes no pretense of hiding.