Page 213 of The Billionaire's Secret

Tink smiles, "She's a keeper, Killian."

He drums his fingers on his chest, "I have good taste, huh?"

I swipe at his shoulder, "So that's why you had the riding crop on your desk?"

"Want me to use it again on you?" he smirks.

"Ugh," Tink grimaces, "TMI, you guys."

"Sorry," he snickers, "couldn't resist."

His phone pings. He slides it out of his pocket and his lips curl.

"What are you up to?" I huff.

"Weston's on his way to the cabin in the countryside to get some alone time over Christmas." He pockets his phone.

There’s silence for a minute.

"Holdonasecond." I scowl, "Isn't Amelie headed there as well?"

"Is she?" His lips twitch.

"Saint Jordan KillianHarryCaldwell," I grumble.

"Uh-oh," he drawls, "am I in trouble?

"You set this up?"

"Me?" His gaze widens.

I stare, "You gave them each a key to the cabin and sent them there?"

"Oops." He smirks.

TO FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENS NEXT READ WESTON AND AMELIE'S STORY IN THE BILLIONAIRE'S CHRISTMAS BRIDE HERE

"????? COULD NOT PUT IT DOWN!" READ THE AMAZON TOP 100 BESTSELLER THE BILLIONAIRE'S FAKE WIFE – SINCLAIR AND SUMMER'S STORY HERE

READ JACE AND SIENNA'S STORY HERE

READ KARMA AND MICHAEL BYRON'S STORY HERE

READ AN EXCERPT FROM WESTON AND AMELIE'S STORY...

I stalk toward the door at the far end, take a breath.

The sounds of water splashing, then a male voice breaks into a rendition ofNothing Else Mattersby Metallica. Huh? The singing’s not bad, actually. My thief, apparently, has a thing for classic rock, and can carry a tune. I hum the lyrics in sync with him…The hell?I pause, draw in another breath.Now or never. Do it, Amelie. Go for it.Whoever it is, he has no right to be here.Shit, should I have called the cops?

The singing stops abruptly.What the—? Did I give myself away?I half angle my body; the door flies open. Offense is the best form of defense, and all that. I pivot around, raise my weapon, and find I am confronted with a wall of muscle. Naked chest, water running in rivulets down those sculpted abs that narrow into a concave belly which points to his thick, long—

"My face is up here," he drawls.

Heat flushes my cheeks; I jerk my gaze up. Grey eyes clash with mine—stormy clouds that boil in a sky which hints at oncoming snow. Sleet. Hail. An uncompromising will to get his way no matter what. A shiver runs down my spine and moisture pools between my legs.

The skin between his eyebrows crinkles and his nostrils flare.No way.He can’t smell my arousal, can he?

That mean upper lip thins further. His pouty lower lip juts out above a chin that wears days’ old growth of beard. Thick dark hair covers his jaw. How would it feel to have him draw those rough whiskers across my inner thigh? Right before he dips his head, darts out his tongue, and licks my innermost secret place. Goosebumps dot my skin.Shit, what’s wrong with me? Why did my mind go there? You know why… Because this handsome piece of 100% male goodness is, quite simply, the most wickedly delicious piece of dessert I’ve ever laid my eyes on.My throat dries. Also, I happen to know him.