Page 98 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Zara

"How do I look?" I pop out a hip and the light bounces off of the Swarovski crystals that decorate my shimmery-silver, one-shoulder dress.

It clings to me like it was made for me, which it probably was, considering it arrived in a box by special delivery just a few hours ago.

I almost turned it away, until I noticed the label on the box.

Armani. Only a fool would turn away the chance to wear an Armani original, and a fool, I am not.

Still, I hesitated when the courier handed over the second box.

This one bore the Manolo Blahnik label. And if I had any doubt, the third box—this one sporting the Birkin brand—sealed the deal.

"Well?" I quirk an eyebrow at the phone which I’ve propped up against the mirror.

"You look gorgeous and that dress might as well be painted on," Solene replies from the screen.

"That’s what I thought, too." I turn sideways, running a hand down my stomach.

"You look amazing, Z."

"It’s the dress," I demur.

"It’s the woman in the dress. Your confidence shines through."

"That’s the glitter of the Swarovski crystals." I laugh weakly.

"The man knows your weakness." She chuckles.

"Doesn’t he ever." If I had any remaining doubts about accepting the dress, they vanished as soon as I slid it on. Something about the gunmetal color, and the one-shouldered cut, lent a regal air to the outfit. As for the fit… It’s clear he memorized my curves.

There’s no other way the dress could have fit without my having tried it on in advance.

I thrust out a leg and the slit, which slashes almost up to my waist, parts to reveal the line of my thigh.

As for the heels, the Manolo Blahnik’s have a bondage-type strap that clings lovingly to my ankle.

"Those shoes alone are going to make the man combust."

"I hope so." I look at myself with a critical eye. I’m dressed to bring a man to his knees. And he must have known this would be the outcome when he sent me this specific combination of clothes to wear.

"You sure about this, though?" Solene’s voice pulls me out of my reverie.

"You mean about wearing the clothes he sent me?"

"It’s your favorite designers, and creations you couldn’t possibly buy off the shelf, so I’m not surprised you didn’t turn it away. It’s just…won’t he misinterpret your wearing the clothes he sent you for your encouraging him?"

"He might." I run my palms down the Swarovski studded fabric. "And if I had turned it away, he’d have won, and I can’t allow that."

"This thing between the two of you isn’t a game," she cautions.

"Sure could have fooled me," I murmur

"Just don’t want you getting hurt, babe."

Might be a little too late for that. I turn to face her image on the phone screen. "I’ll be careful, I promise."

"Good. You’re a strong woman, Zara, but you have a heart that can be hurt easily."

Damn, when your friends see you so clearly, it’s humbling. "You’re a good friend, Solene."

"Because I’m looking out for you?" She laughs. "If our roles were reversed, you’d do the same. You know that."

"You bet I do."

The doorbell rings.

"That must be Liam and Isla." I blow a kiss at the phone. "I love you, babe; can’t wait to see you in person."

"Same, and don’t forget to tell me all about it."

"I promise" I disconnect the call, then drop the phone into my clutch with my lipstick and house keys. A last look at myself, and I grab my coat and head for the door. When I throw it open, he stands there with one hand against the doorframe.

I open and shut my mouth. "What are you doing here?"

"Liam and Isla are running late, so I offered to pick you up."

"I didn’t hear anything from Isla." I scowl.

"Have you checked your messages?"

I pull out my phone, check my messages, and sure enough, there’s one from Isla.

Isla:

So sorry babe. Liam’s mom wasn’t feeling well—she’s fine now—but Liam wanted to look in on her before we went to the ball so we’re running late.

I hope you don’t mind that Hunter’s coming to pick you up.

I know things are rough with you two, but you do work together now, and he offered.

We won’t be long, I promise. See you soon.

Guess in all the excitement of the new clothes and accessories, I missed her message. I pull up the app for the cab company, and he places his hand on mine. Tendrils of heat flicker out from the point of contact. Both of us pull back.

"What are you doing?"

"I’m ordering a cab."

"It’s Friday evening; you’re not going to get one in time."

"We’ll see." I type out my destination, press the relevant buttons and the app stalls. "Damnit." I try again and again; each time the app crashes.

"I have a car waiting, Zara."

I ignore him and continue to try the app with the same result. "Bloody hell." I drop the phone back in my bag and scowl at him. "You planned it all, didn’t you? Inviting me to the ball—"

"As my PR official; nothing personal about this."

"Then making sure, somehow, Liam and Isla couldn’t pick me up."

"You think I orchestrated Liam’s mother falling sick?" His gaze widens. "Not even I could pull that off."

"Hmph." I scan his features. He’s combed back his hair and is wearing a tux which outlines his broad shoulders.

His crisp white shirt stretches across his chest. His jaw is freshly shaven, the bowtie at his neck turning his entire look from sophisticated to positively deadly.

Why does he have to look so edible? So hot?

So sexy, so everything. I frown. He arches an eyebrow.

"Something wrong?"

"You have a—" I lean up and press my thumb to a dot of blood at the edge of his jawline. I show him the drop of scarlet, then bring the digit to my mouth and suck on it.

His nostrils flare. His blue-green eyes darken until they resemble pools of midnight blue. "I must have nicked myself shaving."

"Right." I swallow, glance away, then back at him. "If I’m to travel in the same car as you, we need rules."

"Rules?" He arches an eyebrow.

"No touching without permission."

"Goes both ways," he points out.

I flush, then draw myself up to my full height. "That was an instinctive reaction."

"So was mine."

I nod slowly. "Moving on, no looking at me like you want to—"

"Fuck you?" he interjects.

Heat sweeps up my back. "Exactly. You need to be on guard when we are together in the open."

"I’ll have my game face on."

"No kissing."

"Not unless you ask me to."

"No moving into my space."

"You mean like this?" He moves in until the lapels of his jacket almost brush my dress.

Until his breath kisses my cheek, until the heat from his body wraps around me, and his scent—that gorgeous spicy, testosterone-laden scent of his permeates my pores and my cells, sinks into my blood, and arrows straight to my core.

"You promised," I whisper.

“You set the rules; I didn’t agree to anything,” he says, his voice as hushed as mine.

"We can’t, Hunter, please." I swallow.

He glances between my eyes, then nods, and to my relief, takes a step back. "Shall we?"

"You pulled out all the stops, didn’t you?" I accept my flute of champagne and glance about the interior of the Jaguar. It’s definitely custom-made, complete with the bar and the panel between the front and back seats, which is now currently up.

"No reason not to travel in style." He slides the bottle of Moet & Chandon Espirit du Siecle Brut into the ice bucket then raises his glass. "To the evening ahead."

I clink my glass with his and raise it to take a sip.

The clean notes of citrus and pear, shot through with licorice, tickle my nostrils.

My stomach churns. I raise the flute to my mouth and take a sip.

That churning sensation grows stronger. I manage to swallow down the champagne without gagging, then place the glass back on the table.

"Good?" he asks.

"You know it is." I heave an internal sigh of relief as my stomach settles. I forgot to eat lunch. I should remember not to skip meals.

"Nothing like hearing the appreciation first-hand."

I chuckle. "You’re smooth."

"As smooth as the champagne?"

"Smoother, and stop fishing for compliments."

He laughs, and his entire face lights up. That square jaw, that aristocratic nose, those high cheekbones, and in the designer suit he’s wearing, he’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever met.

"You’re staring, Zara."

I glance away. "My mind was a million miles away."

"Oh?" I hear the disbelief in his voice.

"An upcoming family reunion, which promises to be as stressful as the ones before." And that’s the truth. Though I only brought it up as a means to divert attention away from that slip up. So, the man is sex-on-a-stick, but I already know that. So why am I so flustered being this close to him? Especially since I’ve been much closer to him in the past.

"I take it, you don’t get along with your parents?"

"I do, until something sets one of us off, and then it all descends into pandemonium."

"You have a brother?"

I hesitate. "He’s my fraternal twin, but you know that already."

Now, it’s his turn to hesitate. "I do, but it’s different hearing it from you than reading it in a folder."

I reach for my flute and take another sip.

"My grandfather arrived from the Indian subcontinent when he was five years old. He met my grandmother, who’s also Indian, here in the UK.

My father was born here. My mother’s English.

She met my father at the grocery shop that his father established.

It’s the same place that she and my father now run.

When my parents had us, they were determined we would make a mark. "

"And both of you have."

I glance away, then back at him. "They weren’t very happy when, after qualifying for the bar, I moved into this 'ungodly' profession." I make air quotes with my fingers.

"Parents normally come around when they see their children are happy."

"Oh, and let’s not forget, I’m past my prime and not married. So, I’ve doubly failed them."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-nine, but you know that—"