Page 69 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Zara

"Date? Did you just ask me out on a date?"

"It would seem that way, yes," His lips twist, and damn, but that smirk of his is so hot. As is the invisible print of his fingers around my wrist that I can still feel. He forgets about me for months on end… Again. And when we run into each other, he thinks he can pick up from where we left off?

"No," I snap.

He blinks. An expression of surprise forms on his features before he smooths it away. "Okay." He picks up his fork and digs into the bowl of pasta.

"That’s it? Okay?"

He licks the pasta sauce from his fork, and my core clenches. How would it feel to have him stab that tongue inside my cunt. Oh god, you did not just think that. Did not. I stab my fork into my salad and shovel some of the cheese into my mouth.

"You don’t want to date me. I can respect that."

"Hmm." I fork more leaves between my lips, watch as he digs into the pasta with gusto. He chews and the tendons of his throat flex as he swallows. My stomach stutters, and moisture pools between my thighs. Damn it, I should be impervious to him. Especially after how he ignored me for the past few months. In fact, come to think of it, there’s a strange pattern to our meetings. We run into each other, apparently by accident, and the attraction flares. I end up doing something crazy, like kissing him, or he fingers me, or I get a sense of what he’s packing between his legs…

And then, he’s gone. Poof. Just like that.

It’s almost like he’s showing me how it could be between us, then vanishing so that I’m left wanting.

And then I have to stop myself from stalking him online.

Except for the headlines he makes when he attends some social event or another with his models.

Something which I’m sure he wants me to see so he can make me jealous. I push away the salad.

"Not hungry?"

"Nope."

He finishes off his pasta—which he seems to have inhaled, by the way—and reaches for his chocolate cake. He scoops up a spoonful of the icing and slides it between his lips. He licks the spoon and my core clenches. My toes curl.

I reach for the coffee and take a sip. The bitterness of the brew laced with a tinge of nutty sweetness sinks into my palate. "Mmm." I close my eyes to savor the liquid, letting the warmth envelop me.

When I open my eyelids, he’s watching me with those blue-green eyes of his, which now resemble a stormy sea. His nostrils flare. His jaw is tight. He seems to be trying his best to get control of himself.

Good. Two can play this game, and it’s not one I intend to lose. I take another sip of the coffee, and he draws in a breath. I swallow and his gaze narrows.

Then he scoops up a sliver of the chocolate and offers it to me.

"You’re going to feed me here?"

"No one’s watching us."

"There’s always someone watching. You should know that."

"Indeed. But I’m willing to take the risk. Question is, are you?"

My heart flutters in my chest like the wings of a dragonfly.

Am I willing to take the risk? Am I? That’s the big question.

One for which I don’t have an answer. I glance about us and find, sure enough, no one is paying us any attention.

Also, our table is set to one side in an alcove, so we’re somewhat hidden from the rest of the room.

"Where’s your security personnel?"

"They’re around."

Once again, I scan the people at the other tables but don’t see anyone who resembles his security team.

"They’re good at their job," he drawls.

"Indeed. How about you? Are you good at what you do?" Shit, hadn’t meant for that to come out quite that suggestive. My subconscious is getting ahead of me.

His lips kick up and he gives me a full, blinding smile that lights up his features and positions me at the receiving end of all of his charisma.

Even though I know exactly what he’s doing, it doesn’t stop my pulse from drumming at my wrists, at the base of my throat, between my legs.

He is potent. All he has to do is turn on his charm and few would be able to resist him.

He looks at the spoon of chocolate he’s holding out, then back at my face.

I scowl.

"Zara." He lowers his voice to a hush and a thrill of anticipation grips me. No one, no man so far, has been able to command me, to tell me what to do. Yet this man, with simply an intonation of his voice, has me salivating to fulfill his every demand. He’s good, I’ll give him that. Am I going to give in to him. Am I?

He holds my gaze, and the air between us grows thick, charged with everything unsaid, tinged with the lust that has colored our every encounter. A cloud of heat seems to plume off his body and slam into my chest. I gasp. He leans forward and slides the spoon between my lips.

The creamy dessert melts on my tongue. The acrid taste of cocoa combined with the sweetness of sugar coats my taste buds. I swallow, and it slides down my throat, and seems to head straight for my core. He has a direct line to the most intimate parts of me, and I’m not even sure how that happened.

He brings the spoon to his mouth and sucks on it.

A million fires seem to erupt under my skin.

I grip the edge of the table, my breathing erratic.

I need to look away from him, now. I try to tear my gaze away from his, but it’s like we’re connected, entwined, linked, affixed together.

It’s as if some part of him has hooked into me and is now reeling me in.

I lean forward; so does he. He places the spoon down, leans across the table.

Closer, closer. I can see the fine lines that radiate out from the edges of his eyes, the flashes of gold deep in his irises, as if he’s drawing on that secret fire power that lights him up from inside.

That haloes him and attracts people to him.

I am but a helpless insect caught in his web and he’s reeling me in.

We’re so close, his breath grazes my cheek.

I glance down at his mouth, part my lips.

My phone buzzes. I ignore it and flutter down my eyelids. His phone rings, and I sense him hesitate. I snap my eyes open to find he’s looking at me with so much longing that my breath catches. His phone continues to ring. My phone buzzes again.

"The babies!" I exclaim at the same time as him.

"He’s so cute." I touch the tiny fingers of the baby that Summer is holding. Twelve hours of contractions, followed by five hours of labor in the hospital, and the baby finally burst into the world. Weighing in at nearly nine pounds, he’s also bigger than expected.

"I can’t believe you pushed him out without an epidural." I wince.

Karma’s baby was born a few minutes after Summer’s, but he was nearly four weeks premature, so they rushed him to the neo-natal unit. Karma’s still sleeping off the emergency cesarean. Michael opted to stay with her. We were told that we can see her tomorrow. Both sisters gave birth to boys.

Summer had a natural birth, with both her and the baby in good shape. She bounced back quickly after the birth and was eager to show off her son to the rest of us. Now, I watch as she kisses her son’s forehead. "I confess, it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But it’s worth it."

"He is," I say softly. I draw my fingertip over his tiny knuckles. "He’s perfect."

"He is." Summer sniffs.

Sinclair, who’s sitting next to her, kisses her forehead. "You did well, baby. I’m not sure I could have gone through what you did." His voice is tinged with awe.

I glance up at him and realize, under his tan, he’s pale. Summer, on the other hand, is glowing. There’s an ethereal light in her eyes that tells me she still hasn’t come down from whatever endorphins flooded her system during the birth.

"I hope you’re giving her a ‘push gift’ that makes up for everything she went through." I narrow my gaze on him.

Summer laughs. "This" —she glances at the baby— "is enough of a gift. I don’t need anything else."

Sinclair rubs his cheek on her hair. "You know I’d pluck the moon from the sky and place it at your feet if I could, baby.

You showed me what it means to feel. Without you, I was lurching from one disaster in life to the next.

Then you came along and taught me what it is to belong. I love you, Summer."

"Aww," Summer raises her head for a kiss.

I look away and my gaze clashes with Hunter, who’s been standing on the opposite side of the bed.

All of the others came by and saw the baby in pairs, so as not to crowd the newborn, until it was only Hunter and me.

When we were ushered in together, I didn’t protest. It seemed silly to say I’d go in separately.

But being here with him, and watching Summer and Sinclair cuddle as they enjoy their first few moments as a family with the baby is, somehow, more difficult than I expected.

"Do you want to hold him?" Summer’s voice interrupts my thoughts.

"But he’s just been born." I blink.

Summer laughs and holds him in my direction. My stomach coils in on itself. I glance blindly in Hunter’s direction.

He must sense my panic, for he steps forward.

"I’ll take him." He scoops up the little bundle from Summer and cuddles the baby close to his chest. The sight of the tiny infant against his big broad chest as he holds him carefully is unexpectedly poignant and hot. So hot. I’ve never found the sight of men carrying babies sexy, until now.

For that matter, I’ve never consciously gravitated toward babies.

I have friends who’ve been obsessed with their biological clock and swore they needed to have children to feel complete, but I’ve never been like that.

Maybe it’s because I had to be the strong one in my family, and was used to taking on responsibility from a very young age.

Or it's because my father always encouraged me to be independent.

Because I wanted to break stereotypes from the time I was little.

Because I had to protect my twin brother and be strong for him. Because I was so focused on my career.

Either way, having children has never been a priority for me. So why am I so shaken at seeing Hunter with a baby? Why is my mouth dry, my stomach churning, and my heart pumping so hard, I’m sure it’s going to break through my ribcage? "Excuse me." I rise to my feet and stumble toward the door.