Page 83 of The Billionaire's Fake Wife

"That’s where you are wrong." I lean forward until my chest almost grazes her chest. Almost.

I don’t need to glance down to find out that her nipples have puckered. (Expected.) Or that my pants are suddenly too tight at my crotch. (An unfortunate byproduct of our proximity, one that I'm going to alleviate as soon as I have called her out on her mistake.)

"That’s twice in as many minutes, by the way."

Her gaze widens. "You are such an arrogant know-it-all. It’s not possible to have a single straight conversation with you."

"Right?" I allow my grin to broaden.

A pulse beats to life at the hollow of her neck. I want to drop my head, nuzzle that space where her scent would be the most concentrated. Fuck, why would you want to do that, huh?

I start to raise my arm, then lower it; my fingers tingle. How can I ache to touch her again? Feel that silky smooth softness of her skin under my palm, cupping her, palming her arse, thrusting knuckle-deep inside the soft core between her legs—

"Hey." She claps her hands.

I tip my chin, up. "Don’t raise your voice."

"I’ll do whatever the fuck I want."

"Summer!" A new voice sounds within the space.

I glance past her, spot the woman Summer was talking to when I entered. "Who’re you?"

"Hi." She moves forward, "I’m Karma."

"Karma?"

She blows out a breath. "Excuse my parentage, and hers." She jerks her head toward Summer. "We are what happens when you cross a flower-chewing hippie with a loser ex-millionaire with a penchant for gambling."

No kidding! And isn’t that the root of this entire fucking problem.

"Good to meet you by the way," she holds out her hand.

I glance at it, then at her face. "The jury is out on that."

She blinks, her features taking on a stunned countenance, then she chuckles, her shoulders shaking. She bursts out laughing, a full-throated giggle that’s oddly infectious.

I find my lips twitching. "You must be the sister."

"You must be the alphahole." She grins.

I frown, "Alpha—?"

"Shut up, Karma." Summer pivots, and I pull her against my side. She struggles and her hip grazes my side.

I wind my arm around her tiny waist, dig my fingers into the curve of her butt. She shudders, then falls still.

"So, that’s my nickname, huh?" I smirk.

Summer snorts, "Only you would take it as a compliment."

"I’ll let that pass."

"Why do I find that so difficult to believe?"

"You’re right to be suspicious."

She huffs, "Why don’t you say what’s on your mind?"