Page 309 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Penny

"Here’s your drink." The tall, dark and handsome man with silver at his temples, who's almost as gorgeous as Sir, but who is not Sir, hands me a flute of champagne.

"Thank you," I murmur, then take a sip. It’s cool and crisp and nowhere as delicious as the champagne Knight served on his deck yesterday. Was it only yesterday that we had dinner and shared conversation? When I thought we were making headway in getting to know each other? Was it only last night when he’d almost made me come, then pulled me into his chest and lulled me to sleep, before waking me up in the middle of the night with his face between my legs?

At least, I think he ate me out like a starving man and almost made me come again.

Unless I was dreaming. No, I don’t think I was dreaming.

It felt too real, too intense, too good in the way that only Sir can make me feel.

He’s the only one who can manage to take me to the edge, and when I think I can’t go any higher, he takes me there the next time around.

The anticipation licks my nerve-endings, clings to my veins, and slithers under my skin in an ever-growing pool of lava released from the volcano between my legs. My stomach flip-flops, and heat flushes my skin.

"You all right?" the man asks.

I force myself to look up at his handsome visage. "I’m sorry, what’s your name again?"

He smiles. "I haven’t told you yet."

"Ah." I blush a little.

"And by the looks of the man who’s glaring at us from across the room, I don’t think I should, either."

I suck in my breath through my lips. "Is he a tall man, with shoulders like an NFL quarterback, and a face that resembles Lucifer having a very bad day, and is he standing there with his legs slightly apart and leaning forward on the balls of his feet, with his fingers rolled into fists at his sides?

And is he…" The hair on the nape of my neck rises.

I swallow. "Is he rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck and giving the appearance of getting ready for a fight? "

He glances over my shoulder, then back at me. "Seems you're familiar with the bloke." A wrinkle appears between his eyebrows. "And that was unnervingly accurate. You two married?"

"Nope—" I snort. "He’s my boss."

"Hmm." His lips curl in a smirk that I should find attractive, but unfortunately, it’s not the puffy lower lip and the thin, mean upper lip of the man who haunts my dreams. So, I register it in a desultory fashion. The kind that tells me I’m screwed, I’ll never find any man as attractive, as sexy, and as appealing as the alphahole staring daggers at my back.

"Whatever his relation to you, and whatever lies he’s been telling himself, it’s about to change."

"Oh?" I blink.

"The fastest way to get a man to admit he wants you is to show him you find someone else attractive."

"But I don’t..."

His smile broadens, and really, though he’s older than me—or perhaps, because he’s older than me—he has that entire forbidden thing going for him.

Which, I have to admit, is hot. A-n-d the penny drops.

"You think if I were to pretend to be interested in you, it’d make him do something out of character? "

"Smart girl." He laughs, showing white, even teeth, which set off his tan.

He has that Pedro Pascal 'Daddy' vibe going for him, that honestly, should have made my panties moist by now, but newsflash, my pussy only weeps for one man. And he’s the meanest, growliest, most wounded man ever, who prefers to pretend he has no more feelings left for anyone.

"I’m Penny Easton." I hold out my hand.

"Philippe Beauchamp." He takes my hand in his, then raises it to his lips and kisses my knuckles.

I swear I can hear a growl roll my way from somewhere on the other side of the room. I suppress a smirk of my own.

"You’re beautiful, Penny, and you’re young enough to be my daughter, so you should know I’m not coming on to you at all—" He releases my hand. "However, thanks to my age and experience, I’m able to see when a couple is about to make a mistake they might regret for the rest of their lives. And then, my conscience tells me if I don’t step in, I’ll never forgive myself. "

I laugh. "You always this generous with your interventions?"

"Only when it’s too easy to push the wankhead involved into making a move."

"You know Knight, I take it?"

His smile fades a little. "I know of him. My son, Declan, is his friend. I happened to be in town for work, so Abby insisted I come. She thought it wouldn’t hurt to have a few newish faces around; though now, I wonder if she asked me precisely so I’d do something to make the proceedings more interesting. "

"You’re wrong about that. Knight might be a little pissed off at the fact I’m talking to you, but he’s not going to make a move."

"You sure?"

I nod. "He told me he isn’t interested in pursuing a relationship."

Philippe laughs. "There’s a difference between saying something and then being put in a situation where you have to act on your instincts. And given how your boss hasn’t taken his gaze off of us, I do believe it’s not long now before he does."

I draw in a breath. I think he’s mistaken.

I think it's possible Knight might feel a little jealous, but he’ll probably brush it off and go about his business.

Still, if I can have some fun at his expense, then sure.

Anything to get His Snarliness a little hot under the collar.

I reach up and put my hand on Philippe’s collar.

Then, for extra effect, I tip up my chin and flutter my eyelashes.

I have the satisfaction of seeing the older man’s eyes glaze.

I lean in enough to draw in his spicy, citrusy scent—nowhere as much of a turn on as Sir’s sea-breeze and pepper one, but it’s not unpleasant, at all.

One side of his lips curl. "I hope he realizes he may have met his match."

I blush again. "You’re too kind."

He smirks. "And he’s underestimating you. You’re going to be running circles around him, girl. He’s not going to know what hit him."

I laugh. "Not likely."

He winks. "Shall we test the theory?"