Page 448 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Edward

Fuck, yes. The sweet scent of her arousal wafts over to me, and my already thickening cock extends further.

My blood drains to my balls, and my thigh muscles are so rigid, I’m sure I’m going to split my pants.

I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want to lick the glistening ends of her fingertips. And if I do, I’m going to hell.

I swore never to fall for another woman. Yet here I am, in an enclosed space, with the most dangerous woman I’ve encountered since her. Maybe even more than her. I can’t remember feeling this out of my depths with her. But Belle… She is a constant surprise.

Mirabelle Young, daughter of one of the most powerful families in the world, a woman whose purple streaked hair indicates she's trying to change what's in her control—ergo, she can’t change many of the bigger things in her life.

The woman who's twelve years younger than me—not twenty, or fifteen, as she’d guessed.

The woman whose beauty struck a blow to my chest the first time I saw her, so much so, those big blue eyes of hers had seared themselves into my soul.

The creamy expanse of her neck had made me want to dig my teeth into the skin and mark her where her shoulder met her neck; the flare of her ample hips had invited me to dig my fingers into them and hold her still as I bent and swiped my tongue across her cherry blossom mouth.

She's perfect. From the top of her blonde hair, whose shine not even the purple streaks could hide, to the imprint of her nipples that can be seen through the layers of her blouse and her jacket, to the thick thighs that beg me to wear them as earmuffs—to sink to my knees and push my face into the delectable treasure between them.

Fact is, since meeting Ms. Mirabelle Young, everything about my carefully structured life has been upturned.

The force of her beauty touches that dead organ in my chest, the one I thought would never revive—indeed, did not want to be revived.

Her presence is grace and light, with an awkwardness that awakens my protective instincts.

It’s why I offered her a job as my assistant.

This way, I can watch out for her. I can make sure she’s safe.

But I cannot allow myself to develop feelings for her.

I cannot act on this attraction I feel for her.

Besides, if she sees the truth of the man I am, she’ll hate me.

She’ll never want to see me again. My only role is to ensure she’s protected.

That what happened to me as a boy never happens to her.

When I showed her the NDA, I was sure it'd discourage her from accompanying me on this little sojourn. But Little Miss Gorgeous—whose face I almost jerked off to twice today—surprised me… Again. It made me want her more.

Not to worry; I can resist her allures. I stayed celibate as a priest. Until I didn’t, and see how that worked out for me. Nope. I’m not falling for a woman again. And definitely not for her.

I step out of the car, hit the electronic lock, then walk around to open her door. "Ready?"

"Always." She tucks her handbag under her arm and brushes past me, only to trip on a crack in the pavement.

My heart slams into my ribcage. I grip her shoulder and straighten her.

"Do I have Tiny to blame this time? Of course, not," she mumbles. She tries to pull her arm from mine, but I tighten my grip.

"You can let me go."

"Can’t have you breaking your neck on my watch." My voice comes out harsher than I intended.

She winces, then a shudder grips her.

"You’re cold."

"Don't be ridiculous,” she huffs.

"What did I say about lying?" I glare.

She pales, then slowly, nods. "I am…a little."

I shrug off my jacket and place it about her shoulders.

It’s big enough to envelop her completely and comes to mid-thigh.

She burrows into it. Then, as if unable to help herself, turns her face into the collar and sniffs.

She draws in a long breath, holds it, then sighs.

Then, as if she realizes what she’s done, she whips her head around in my direction.

"Did I sniff your jacket?" she bursts out.

When I nod slowly, the color on her face deepens.

"I… I didn’t." She bites down on her lower lip, and goddam her, I feel the tug in my groin.

I step away from her. Pretending not to notice the disappointment on her face, I stalk forward, without waiting for her.

I sense her surprise, then hear the clopping of her heels as she hurries to keep up.

We reach the waiting motorboat. The man at the wheel nods in my direction.

I jump down into it, then turn and, without asking for permission, grab her hips and haul her down.

The warmth of her skin sinks into my blood.

My cock thickens, and my balls tighten. She draws in a sharp breath, and I have no doubt she feels the connection, too.

Fuck. I thought I was being clever when I invited her to join me as my assistant.

I hoped I could keep a few steps ahead of this—whatever it is she's doing to me.

I thought I was being clever by taking the lead and nipping this attraction in the bud.

I took that entire 'keep your enemies close' dictum to heart.

Apparently, she's not the one I need to be worried about.

It's me and my reaction to her that I need to control. And I have the rest of the night to prove to myself how wrong it was to have anything to do with her.

"Sit." I point at the bench set into the side of the boat, then heave a sigh of relief when she complies. I grab a life-vest and place it about her shoulders. She begins to protest but I shake my head. “That’s non-negotiable. I will not risk your life, Belle.”

She looks between my eyes then nods. “What about you?”

“I’m good.”

“I will not risk your life either, Edward.” She sets her jaw.

A frisson of heat squeezes my chest. I bat it aside, then reach for another life-vest and shrug into it.

Then, I take a stance beside her. Not because I want to act as her shield from the wind, and definitely not because I want to make sure she's safe. She’s a grown woman; she can handle herself on a boat.

The vessel leaps forward, and she lurches with it.

I grip her arm until she finds her balance again.

"Thanks." She tilts her face up. Her hair flows across her features, and before I can stop myself, I’ve pushed the strands behind her ear.

In the moonlight, her blue eyes turn a translucent silver.

"Beautiful Belle," I murmur.

"Excuse me?"

I shake my head, stare ahead, but don’t let go of her.

"I like it when you call me, Belle." She whispers the words, and I shouldn’t hear it above the breeze, but I do. Only, I pretend I don’t.

When the motorboat reaches the stern of the larger ship, the driver cuts the engine, then throws the line to one of the waiting crew on the yacht. He secures it, then signals that we’re good to climb aboard. The man moves toward Mira, but when I glare at him, he pauses.

I reach for her and help her onto the boarding ladder.

When I follow her up, I realize I made a mistake.

From my vantage point, I have a clear view of her pear-shaped bottom in that too-tight skirt outlining her lush curves.

My fingers tingle, and the blood roars in my ears.

I raise my arm, needing to touch her twitching arse, then stop before I make contact.

Why is my control so fraught around her?

Why does she reduce me to the most basic of instincts?

Why does she turn my emotions inside out?

Why does she affect me so? Why did I decide to bring her here?

I thought I’d punish her for daring to tempt me, yet I’m punishing myself by her proximity.

She reaches the yacht, and the steward helps her aboard.

When he touches her, a burst of anger sweeps through me.

I don’t question my need to hurry up and reach her.

I step between them, and steward’s arm drops away.

He looks between us, then lowers his gaze, signaling he understands my unspoken sentiment.

I shrug out of my life-vest, then help her slide off her own. I hand it over to the steward. He accepts it, then half bows his head, "Everything you asked for is ready," he assures me.

"Belle, are you ready?" I rap on the door to the room she disappeared into. I told her she’d find fresh clothes laid out for her. She protested, but I glared at her, and she paled. I softened then, and told her, since I’d spoiled her evening with her friends, the least I could do was make it up to her.

She finally relented and walked inside to change.

That was half an hour ago. Truth be told, I'm getting impatient.

I want to see how she looks in the clothes I chose for her.

I want to see her features—those plump lips, those rosy cheeks, the vulnerable column of her neck, the pulse that beats at the hollow of her throat.

Every part of her is enticing and alluring, and I want…

No, need to smell her and see her and be in her presence again.

"Open up." I bang on the door. "If you don’t, I’m going to break this down and—"

The door swings open. I stare.