Page 22 of The Billionaire's Secret

I draw in a breath and her scent grows straight to my head. A hot sensation stabs in my chest. Fucking fuck. This woman, she is too potent. Weston was right, I am way too deep into this game already.

I release her so suddenly, her rear hits the couch with a thump. Turning, I stride to the door.

"You're a real piece of work you know that?" she yells after me.

I raise my hand in the air. "Rest up, Gigi. You have until I finish this next appointment to figure out why you came. After that, the choice is out of your hands."

6

I am often mistaken for being true. What am I?

Answer: A lie

Victoria

"Help me."

I snap my eyes open, jackknife up, heart racing, pulse pounding. I try to swallow and my throat hurts. Sweat slicks my palms, slides down my back. The blood thuds at my temples and my stomach twists.

After Adam's untimely death, I'd received another call. This time with instructions that I had to get close to Saint, and get hold of the evidence he has on the Mafia. The man on the phone had also played me a recording of Nina's voice crying for help. Then he'd warned me not to breathe a word about this to anyone else, before hanging up. I drag my fingers through my hair.

I've barely slept a wink the last few nights, nervous about this encounter with Saint.

Clearly, my subconscious associates that asshole with security. Enough that, for the first time in weeks, I'd fallen into a deep sleep in the middle of the day. On his couch, in his office, no less.

A sound reaches me through the door. I stiffen, swing my legs over and a jacket falls to the floor.Huh?It's light gray in color, different from the one he had loaned me. He hadn't been kidding when he'd said that he hates the color black on me.

Had he come in while I slept and decided not to wake me up? Had he watched me sleep, and covered me with the jacket? I blink.

At least I hadn't drooled. Small mercies. I pick up the jacket, then bury my nose in the luxurious fabric.

The scent of him laces my nostrils—masculine, complex, layers upon layers that sink into my skin. My cheeks flush. My thighs clench. Ridiculous. I can’t have such a reaction to his scent. I drop the jacket on the couch, then spring up to my feet, and walk toward the desk.

Starlight streams in from the windows. Huh? It had been late afternoon when I'd arrived. How long did I sleep? I glance at the sleek wall clock on the far side of the room. What the—? It's late—almost 9pm. Why did he let me sleep away the evening?

I sink into the massive leather chair; the scent of him deepens. My belly flutters. My throat dries.Why the hell am I having such a strong reaction to the presence—? No.My lips twist.Technically, that would be his absence—of this man I barely know.

I touch the pad of the laptop in front of me and the screen lights up. It's fingerprint locked. I'd checked it as soon as Saint had left, of course. It wouldn’t have been that easy, right? I have to get into his files to get what I need, which means—my shoulders slump—I have to get close to him. No choice.

I glance at the desk, spot the riding crop on it. "What the—?" Who keeps a riding crop on his work desk, in his office? Saint does; that's who. I shake my head, reach for the top drawer. It's locked. Well hell, of course it couldn't be that simple.

I open the drawer below; there's stationery, pens, excel sheets printed with rows of numbers. I wrench open the drawer at the bottom... my breath catches. A gun?Huh?He keeps a gun? Another noise reaches me through the door. Shit. Where the hell is Saint?

I snatch up the revolver. The weight is reassuring. Two months ago I'd never seen a gun in my life. Now? Well, I'll take every break I get.

The one thing my experience has taught me is never to be taken by surprise. I shut the drawer, then walk across the floor. Opening the door, I step into a corridor. Strain my ears… Nothing. Scratch that... Is that a sound from down the hall? I glance down the passageway, then the other way. Right. I march down the hallway to the set of double doors, and fling them open.

Pale blue eyes cut into me; his eyebrows slash down.

I take in the breadth of his shoulders ensconced in the same white dress shirt he had on earlier. Only now, the front is unbuttoned and pulled apart to reveal his cut torso. Black hair clings to the eight pack abs that ripple and flow down to meet the waistband of his pants… His unzipped pants where a woman bobs her head. So, this was his very important appointment?

She grips his powerful pant-clad thighs, which buck and flex under her touch. He parts his legs, then clasps the back of her head. The veins on his muscled forearm flex.

A moan bleeds through the air and I’m instantly wet. My mouth waters. My scalp tingles.

Omigod, why is that the most intensely erotic thing I have ever seen?I seriously can’t be thinking that now.Get out of here, get out.My feet seem stuck to the ground, my legs too heavy to carry me out of there. I watch, riveted, as he brings up his other hand, the veins on his forearms popping.

His shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows; his biceps bulge as he swipes a finger across his lower lip.