Page 12 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Isla

"No… no way. You said what?" I giggle, then hiccup. Shit, I’m drunk as a skunk in a drum. Oops. That doesn’t make any sense. I slide off the barstool and promptly land on my arse.

"Isla!" He’s beside me in an instant. "Are you okay?"

Shock reverberates through me, then I burst out laughing. I laugh until tears slide down my cheeks. Then snort in the most unladylike manner. When I wipe my face, it’s to find him smiling down at me.

"Seems you’re a happy drunk."

"You have no idea."

I blink—see two of his gorgeous faces—blink again. They fuse into one. Gorgeous thick hair, high forehead, hooked nose, and those lips, those puffy lips that I want to chew on. I raise my gaze and find him watching me with a hangry look in his eyes.

"Have you eaten?" I hiccup.

"What?"

"I’m hungry. And you look" —I point at his features and giggle— "hangry. Why are you hangry?"

"Hangry, huh?" His lips curl up on one side. I reach up and touch it. Shimmers of electricity explode through my veins. Those annoying goosebumps dance across my skin.

He must feel the same, for his gaze narrows.

Those gray eyes deepen in color, and I can swear there are sparks of blue and green swirling in their depths.

The tendons of his throat flex, and a vein throbs at his temple.

His jaw is so hard, with the makings of a five o’clock beard, even though I’ll bet he shaved this morning.

How can one man be so beautiful? Every time I look at him, my ovaries seem to go into overdrive.

Every time I smell him, all the cells in my body seems to awaken.

And when he looks at me, my nerve endings spark, and my brain cells threaten to short-circuit. "It should be illegal."

"What?" he asks in a rough voice.

"Looking the way you do. Talking the way you do. Being you… It should all be outlawed. You’re not allowed to be so…" I blink. "So…"

"Charismatic?"

"So arrogant." I frown.

"And you’re not allowed to be so beautiful, inside and out. There’s a generosity in you that always wins, which is why you told Lila what you did. It couldn’t have been easy telling her to leave, knowing you would pay the price for it. And yet, you did."

My cheeks heat. "What’s this? A be-nice-to-Isla session before you pull the rug out from under me?"

"It’s a be-nice-to-Isla-before-you-put-her-to-bed, session."

"Bed?" I shake my head. "No, no, no, I need to go home first."

"You’re not going anywhere in this condition. Get some sleep in the guest room, and when you’re sober in the morning, I’ll drop you back home."

"Promise?" I hold out my pinky finger.

"Promise." He locks his finger with mine. A shiver runs down my spine. This… feels different, like something shifted. Like the balance in this relationship—or whatever it is between us—just tipped toward the middle.

A yawn grips me. "Sorry." I pat my mouth. "Not that you’re boring or anything."

"I know, you’re knackered."

"Yeah, best I get to be—whoops." He scoops me up in his arms and stands up in one fluid movement that leaves me with my mouth gaping open. "Wow, you’re strong." I reach up and feel his biceps. "Like really tough."

"You don’t weigh much at all."

"Ha, ha, ha, joke."

He frowns at me. "There are many things about you that I can criticize. Your weight is not one of them though. You are perfect as-is."

"Flattery will get you" —I yawn— "everywhere." I hook my fingers into the front of his shirt and close my eyes.

The next thing I know, he’s trying to disengage my hold.

"Isla?"

"Hmm." I rub my cheek into the pillow.

"Isla, baby, you need to let go of me."

"Uh-uh." I pull him closer. Without opening my eyes, I know his face is poised over mine for I can feel his breath mingle with mine.

I can smell his dark, edgy scent, feel his gaze on my features, sense the cloud of heat that spools off his body and slams into my chest, holding me captive. A moan bleeds from my lips.

"Isla, what are you doing?" He drags his nose up my jaw, and my entire body seems to detonate. I wriggle under him, squeeze my thighs together, then thrust out my chest so the tips of my breasts graze his chest. All his muscles go hard. I still haven’t opened my eyes, but I sense the tension that grips him.

"Isla," his voice is hard. "You don’t want to do this. "

"Don’t I?"

"You want me to fuck you when you’re drunk so you can blame it on me in the morning."

I snap open my eyes. "And what if I do? This way, we can get rid of this stupid chemistry that seems to always zing between us."

"When I fuck you, it won’t be just once, and it won’t be casual. So be very careful what you ask for."

"I—" I try to speak but the words don’t emerge from my throat. "I—"

He searches my features. "That’s what I thought.

You’re not ready to face the consequences of our fucking, woman.

Be content with building your little company, and the fake sense of authority that comes with it.

You’re never going to be able to take off your blinkers and see the potential of what we could be together. "

He pulls away, and this time, I release him. He pivots and is halfway to the door before I sit up.

My head spins, but I ignore it. "Wait, what do you mean by that? What do you mean the potential of what we could be together? I don’t understand."

He pauses, then half turns his head. "I don’t, either." Without explaining himself further, he leaves. I sink back into the bedding, my thoughts in tumult. Nothing makes sense anymore. I close my eyes, and sleep draws me under.

When I awaken in the morning, my head feels like there are many little people inside trying to drill their way out.

Ouch! I manage to peel open one eyelid and spot the bottle of water and the two pills in the small dish next to it.

Painkillers, thank god. I down them with the water and lay back.

The next time I open my eyes, the light coming through the window is much brighter.

Ignoring my phone, which has also been placed on the nightstand next to the glass of water, I head for the door that I assume leads to the bathroom.

After a hot shower and brushing my teeth with the new toothbrush I found next to the sink—courtesy of Liam again, I’m sure—I step into the same clothes I slept in and head out of the bedroom, down the corridor and toward the kitchen.

.. Where the smells of breakfast being cooked turn my stomach.

Liam has his back to me. He’s wearing a pair of sweats, his upper body bare.

His shoulder blades move in perfect synchronicity as he cooks something on the stovetop.

His waist is trim, and his arse—oh, god, that arse—is tight and firm and stretches the fabric of his sweats in a manner that has my mouth watering.

I must make a sound, for he turns and spots me.

"Good morning," he rumbles.

"Morning."

I shuffle toward the coffee maker, when he points to a chair and says, "Take a seat. I’ll get you coffee and something to eat."

My stomach churns. "No breakfast. Coffee is good, though."

He slides a cup of coffee toward me. Then turns back to the stove. Within seconds, two plates of food are placed on the table. One in front of each of us. I glance at the hash browns, baked beans, toast and sausages.

"I don’t eat mea—"

"These sausages aren’t meat-based. And none of that soya stuff, either. These are custom-made with fresh vegetables. I had them delivered yesterday."

"Oh." I gape, not sure what to say.

"Oh." He smirks, then slides into the chair opposite. He tucks into the food on his plate which I notice has bacon and sausages—the real thing. I sip my coffee as he eats. He points at my food with his fork. "Go on, I’ve been assured the sausages are delicious."

"You didn’t have to do that."

"What kind of a fiancé would I be if I didn’t cater to my future wife’s tastes?"

"You don’t have to say that for my benefit." I scowl up at him. "After all, this is all a pretense."

He opens his mouth, then shuts it. He raises a shoulder. "I have to keep up appearances, don’t I?"

My shoulders slump. Why did I think he was going to say something else?

Of course, this is all a farce. He’s doing it to ensure if any of the tabloids spy on us, they’ll see the constructs of a fairy-tale wedding.

One that took place under dubious circumstances, but a wedding, nevertheless.

I cut off a piece of the veggie sausage and chew on it.

The savory herbs, the tangy spices, the sweet beetroots, and the more complex taste of butternut squash cause my stomach to settle and I moan.

"Oh, these are really good." I eat the veggie sausages which are well-cooked. The hash browns and toast are crunchy, just the way I like it. This time, I don’t ask him how he knew this. I know the answer.

When I sit back, having demolished most of my food, I find he has a strange expression on his face.

"What?" I frown. "Am I wearing my food on my face?"

"That, too." He wets his finger, reaches over and rubs at a piece of food on my chin, then brings his finger to his lips and sucks on it. My entire body seems to light up with a strange weightless sensation. My nipples pebble. My core throbs. My throat dries, and I can’t tear my gaze away from him.

He leans across the breakfast counter until his nose bumps mine.

"I have a surprise for you."