Page 61 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Hunter

One second, we’re engaged in that now familiar battle of wills, where our gazes are clashing and holding, and neither of us is ready to back down.

The thrill of the chase unfurls in my chest. My blood begins to thump through my veins.

My vision narrows. Adrenaline laces my blood, but before I can act, she’s thrown the champagne in my face.

The liquid stings my eyes, drips down my cheeks, and I react on pure instinct.

I jump to my feet, lean forward and grab her arm before she can withdraw it.

"Let me go," she snaps.

"No."

I tighten my grip on her wrist and the empty champagne flute slips from her fingers. It hits the table with a soft thud and rolls once, then stills.

"You shouldn’t have done that," I say slowly.

"You deserved it," she spits at me.

"You’re gorgeous."

She stills. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. You’re magnificent when you’re angry. Your eyes flash fire. Your cheeks turn a gorgeous color that makes me want to close the distance between us and lick you up."

She shakes her head. "Am I dreaming? I must be dreaming that I’m in this restaurant with one of the people I hate the most holding my hand."

"Hate fuck. Think of how explosive it will be when we come together."

"Keep dreaming." She tosses her hair back from her face.

"It can be a reality, Z."

"Don’t call me that."

"I feel like we’ve blown past the preliminary part of our relationship already."

She raises the forefinger of her left hand. "One. There is no relationship. And two" —she holds up her middle finger— "you can go fuck yourself." She lowers her forefinger and keeps only her middle finger upright.

"There she is. You turn me on when you get enraged."

"Didn’t you listen to me?" She thrusts her middle finger forward. "I want nothing to do with you."

"And I want everything you can give me." I grab her free hand and pull so we’re both stretched across the table with our faces so close our noses almost bump. I bring her outstretched middle finger to my mouth and close my lips around it.

She draws in a sharp breath and her pupils dilate. Those golden-brown sparks in her eyes glitter until they lighten to silver shards. I curl my tongue around her digit and suck harder.

A moan bleeds from her lips. The taste of her floods my mouth, sinks into my blood. My groin hardens. The crotch of my pants tightens. She lowers her gaze to my mouth and swallows. Her lips part. The scent of her, orange blossoms and vanilla with a hint of pepper, floods my senses.

She leans in closer, until our eyelashes tangle. She raises her gaze to mine, and lust flares in the depths of her eyes.

The blood beats in my ears, and goddamn, I want to kiss her. And I will... Just not yet. First, I need to tease her, taunt her, seduce her… Perhaps, court her. Coax her, so she comes willingly. Here, kitty, kitty.

"Maybe next time." I release her so suddenly, she falls back into her chair.

"What the—?" She gapes at me.

"You wanted to leave? This is your chance."

"After that…that…" She seems at a loss for words.

I mentally fist-pump. Rule number one in any negotiation is to catch your opponent off guard, and that’s exactly what I’ve done. Question is, what’s she going to do next?

She seems to get control of her emotions. "You’re an asshole."

"Alphahole." I smirk.

Her gaze narrows. "Do you play chess?"

"Eh?" It’s my turn to be surprised.

"Chess, Whittington. Do you play chess?"

"Do you wish to be beaten at your own game?"

She narrows her eyes. "You wish." She squares her shoulders. "Let’s move our encounter to a more equal footing."

"Ah, so you’re going to see me again?"

She firms her lips.

"You said it, not me," I remind her.

"I didn’t mean to, but you got me so pissed-off, I didn’t realize I was committing myself to seeing you again."

"Are you backing out?"

She tips up her chin. "I don’t go back on my word."

"Neither do I."

"Good." She sniffs.

"Good." I widen my smile.

"Wipe that grin off of your face. You don’t need to look so satisfied."

My phone pings a warning. "A-n-d, our two hours are up. Time sure goes by fast when you’re having fun."

She makes a rude sound. "Whatever."

"Ah, the famous word that’s the last resort when no other insults come to mind." I smirk.

She picks up her bag and slides it over her shoulder. "Goodbye, Whittington."

"Not so fast." I round the table and tuck her arm through mine. She trembles a little. Good. She’s responding to my proximity. Which means, she’ll miss me when I’m not around. Which will help build up anticipation for our next meeting.

When we reach the ma?tre d’s station by the entrance, he steps up with our coats.

I hold hers up, and she slips her arms through the sleeves.

I smooth it over her shoulders and lean in enough to sniff her hair.

Orange blossoms and vanilla tease my senses.

My cock lengthens at once. It’s as if I’m hardwired to respond to her at every level.

Which is…interesting, to say the least. When the chemistry between us finally explodes, it’s going to be incendiary.

I step back and slide my arms through the sleeves of my jacket the ma?tre d’ holds out for me.

"Thank you, Charles."

"Pleasure, sir. Madam." He tips his head and melts back into the darkness.

Our security detail walks ahead, and I lead her to the door. By the time we step out of the restaurant, my Aston Martin is waiting for us. I open the door, and she slides in. I round the car, slip into the driver’s seat, then ease the car forward.

We drive in silence for a few seconds, then I jerk my chin in the direction of the glove compartment. "Open it."

She glances at the built-in door in the dash, then back at me with a frown. "I’d rather not."

"I promise, it’s not what you think," I coax.

The groove between her eyebrows furrows. "You have no idea what I’m thinking right now."

"You’re thinking how much you’d like to slap me, then kiss me." I smirk.

Her jaw drops, then she laughs. "So damn cocky."

"With good reason."

"Not going there now," she warns.

"Go on, open the door and look inside, Alice."

She shoots me a glance from under those thick eyelashes, "Only because you referred to Alice in Wonderland."

"Do you know The Matrix was inspired by it?"

She blinks. "Was it?"

"Nah." I grin.

She scowls, then chuckles again. "You can be charming, if a little cringe-worthy, I’ll give you that."

"And you want to open that door." I nod in the direction of the glove compartment again, "Go on, do it."

"Hmph." She leans over and presses the button on the panel, and it slides down. There in the middle of the space is a colorful rectangular packet. She reaches for it and draws it out, then holds it out to me.

"Haribo?" she asks in a dazed voice.

"They’re your favorite," I say simply.

"You bought me Haribo gummy bears?" Her voice has a breathless quality to it now.

"Open it," I urge.

She tears open the small packet and pours out a few in the palm of her hand. "They are all the same color."

"Gold."

I say at the same time as her.

"They’re your favorite," I add.

"You never get Haribo bears all in one color in one packet."

"I do."

She looks up at me, then back at the packet. "Not sure what to make of this." Her voice now has a touch of panic to it.

"It’s only candy, Zara; don’t read anything into the gesture."

"You’re doing this to throw me off-kilter."

"Am I succeeding?"

She squares her shoulder. "Of course, not."

"Good, so why don’t you eat one?"

She looks down at the splash of gold in her palm. "Maybe I will."

She pops one into her mouth, slides the rest back into the packet, except one. She drops the pack into her bag, then reaches over and holds it out in front of my mouth.

Without taking my eyes off the road, I open my mouth and she slides it in. I close my lips about her fingers and lick the gummy bear off her digits. The taste of her, more complex than the sweetness of the candy, goes straight to my groin.

I draw in a sharp breath; so does she.

She leans back, and out of the corner of my eye I watch as she brings the fingers to her mouth and sucks on them. A white flash of heat zings through my chest. I tighten my fingers about the steering wheel.

Her chest rises and falls, and I sense a ripple of something pulse through her body. The air between us grows heavy with lust, charged with the kind of lust that could detonate at any second. I knew the chemistry between us was explosive, but this is taking things to another level of combustion.

For a few seconds, neither of us says anything, then she reaches forward and touches the panel on the dash. The haunting strains of Mozart’s “The Queen of the Night” flood the space. Some of the tension eases… Only because I’m going to let this go for now.

"Didn’t take you for someone who listens to classical music," she murmurs.

"My mother loved listening to it. My fondest memories are of her knitting while listening to classical music, while my father worked on his papers in the study."

"That sounds like a very cozy scene."

"She was a home-body. She loved her husband and her sons." At least, until it all went to shite.

"You have a brother?" She turns to look at me.

I nod.

"Is he older than you?"

"Younger."

"I guess he’s not in politics, or I’d have heard of him."

"He’s not. He prefers not to be associated with the Whittingtons. He turned his back on his family and currently lives in Thailand, or at least, that’s where he was when I last heard from him."

"Ah, so he’s the rebel, and you’re the obedient son?"

"Do I look like an obedient son?" I scoff.

"You look like no one can make you do anything you don’t want to do."

"Very astute, Councilor." I shoot her a sideways glance before turning back to the road. "Why did a lawyer decide to get into the big bad world of PR?"

"You mean, the only professions worse than that of a lawyer are being a journalist or a spin-doctor, and I opted for the last?"

"You said it." I smirk.