Page 1 of Worth Every Moment (Hawkston Billionaires #4)

ERICA

F ive Years Earlier

The most handsome man I’ve ever seen is asleep on my new sofa. Okay, so he passed out there, but that’s beside the point. I’m still allowed to feel a little pride in the fact he’s here at all.

Broad shoulders, a suit that’s definitely bespoke, and shoes that scream hand-stitched Italian leather.

Strong jaw, full lips, thick brown hair with a slight wave to it.

He’s so good looking that my examination of his face feels compulsive; his presence has unearthed some addiction I didn’t know I had and now I have no choice but to feed it.

There’s a shadow of stubble over his jaw, which I want to stroke with my fingertip, but that would be properly creepy.

And I’m not there yet. I’m on the border, peeking a toe over the line like a teenager obsessively perusing a celebrity’s social media, but not daring to leave a comment.

A teensy bit creepy, but not fully committed .

I hadn’t met him before last night, but occasionally, someone walks into your life and you get a strange ‘knowing’ that they’re important.

That’s what happened when he walked in. He didn’t look at me, but my body reacted to his presence, as if part of his soul reached out to mine and said, ‘ Hey there, I’m the one you’ve been waiting for.

Sorry it took me so long to find you ’. Even if we never see each other again, I’ll remember that feeling forever .

He’s lying on his side, one arm draped off the edge of the sofa. He has beautiful hands . He was drunk last night, and it’s a miracle he’s not snoring. I imagine he’ll feel dreadful when he wakes.

As much as I’d like to keep him here, or at least let him rest a little longer, I need to clear up and head to a casting before my mother shows up.

I’m not expecting her, but she has a habit of appearing whenever she wants, especially if she suspects I might have sullied my virginal reputation in her absence.

If she finds a man on my sofa, she’ll probably have a meltdown.

It doesn’t fit the brand— Erica Lefroy, top model and fashion entrepreneur, and a paragon of untouchable chastity —to have men strewn across the sofa, even if they do look like Greek Gods.

Crap . I’ll have to wake him.

I put my coffee on the table and crouch beside him. He’s beautiful, but he smells like alcohol and I wrinkle my nose.

How am I going to do this? He’s out cold. I could shout in his face, but who wants to be woken up like that? I’ll have to touch him. Just have to . Gently, of course.

I tap the tip of his nose with one finger, and an energetic jolt zaps down my arm. Did he feel that? How is he still asleep?

I run my fingers over his cheekbone, finding his skin softer than I’d expected. He sighs and shifts, but doesn’t rouse fully. I blow into his face; his eyelids flutter and he waves his hand like he’s batting away a swarm of flies.

Opening his eyes, he catches sight of me and his hand halts in midair. He lets it fall slowly, and then he just… stares right back at me. His full attention blazes like the force of a thousand fires against my skin. It’s hot in here .

I hold his gaze, taking in the sharp blue of his irises, which are framed by dark lashes that curl. I’d pay good money for those .

“Wow,” he breathes, sounding almost like he’s in a trance. “You’re even more beautiful in the morning.”

My stomach flutters. Oh, boy am I in trouble . I need to get him out of my apartment before I do something I regret.

I shift back from the edge of the sofa and perch on the perpendicular one where I can calm down without looking like I’m running away.

“I bet you say that to all the women you wake up next to.” I aim for playful, but my tone must miss the mark because he looks away, and the loss of eye contact hits me like whiplash.

“Fuck,” he groans, flopping onto his back and staring at the ceiling as he rakes a hand through the thick wave of his hair. His eyes flick to mine through a wince. “Please tell me we didn’t have sex, because I have no memory of it and that would be the fuck up of all fuck ups.”

I want to laugh at the distress on his face. “That was a lot of fucks.”

He groans again.

This time, I put him out of his misery. “We did not have sex.” Of course we didn’t have sex . I’ve never had sex with anyone, but Seb Hawkston doesn’t need to know that detail.

He blows out a breath and lowers his legs to the floor so he can sit up.

The movement releases a burst of expensive cologne, which fans the flames of the heat roaring through me.

He’s still wearing a jacket and tie, and although I suspect he’s feeling like shit, he looks nearly pristine and devilishly handsome. Impressive .

“Hi," I say, intending to introduce myself so we can start over. “I’m—”

“I know who you are,” he says, his voice husky and low. The sound makes my heart race a little too fast. “Erica Lefroy.”

I’m relieved he said my name instead of reeling off a load of my recent accomplishments. It makes me feel more like a person and less like a brand.

“Ah, so you do remember last night,” I tease.

“I remember you .” He doesn’t echo my playful tone, and the emphasis he puts on the final word sends those flutters in my stomach spiraling like confetti caught in an updraft.

The air feels loaded, and while I’m breaking into a sweat and trying not to gawk at him, Seb casually takes a packet of chewing gum from his pocket, offers me a piece, which I refuse, and pops one in his mouth before pocketing the packet again.

He glances at his watch. “Damn. I missed my gym session. I never miss the gym.”

That explains why his shoulders and upper arms fill out that expensive suit to perfection. My mind conjures a perfect sculpted male body beneath, golden skin smooth over taut abs that ripple right down to—

“Am I the only one here?” He takes in the empty flat.

“Yeah.” I smooth my skirt with one hand, hoping he can’t tell what I was thinking about. “Everyone else left last night.”

“Nico?” he says, asking for his brother who brought him.

I met Nico at a fashion show afterparty a few months ago, and Mum hounded him until he agreed to accompany me to a charity event where we would be seen together publicly.

I guess you could say it was a date, but it was never sexual.

I never felt anything for him, as handsome as he is.

It was more about Nico Hawkston being good for the brand.

A serious businessman. Discreet with the women he dates.

Elegant, sophisticated. Powerful . Different to Seb, who’s more flirtatious and fun-loving, but nonetheless, there’s a gravity to him that reels me in.

I’ve never felt a magnetic pull to another person the way I do with Seb.

He’s attractive, but also easy-going, which makes it seem like he’s not trying to be anything other than he is.

No pretenses. No phoney charm. Not that I really know.

I can’t judge him on one drunken night, and today, in sobriety, his gorgeous smile and the dimple that usually pops on one cheek have yet to make an appearance.

“He left around midnight,” I respond, remembering that he asked me a question. “You refused to leave.”

He curses under his breath. “Sorry.” His brow furrows as he waves a finger between us. “And we definitely didn’t… do anything? Nothing happened?”

I should probably be insulted that a guy thinks he could have no memory of something happening between us, but the edge of devastation in Seb’s voice checks the impulse. I pick up my coffee again and take a sip, trying to appear way cooler about this than I feel. “No. You tried, though.”

A smile pulls at his mouth. “Obviously.”

His tone is all amused, with not a hint of sleaze, but I gasp in mock horror anyway. "Are you objectifying me?"

He hums a laugh and scratches at his throat, fingertips rasping over the stubble. “No. Just admiring.”

I bite my lip to stop the goofy grin that wants to spread across my face.

When he was drunk, he told me over and over that he thought I was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

People are always telling me things like that—it comes with the job—and while it’s lovely to be complimented, most of the time I suspect they’re running a calculation in their heads at the same time .

How can we leverage this face? How can we make it work for us?

What can we use it for? How much money can we make here?

But the way Seb said it was different. Awe lit up the edges of his words, like I’d sprung fully formed from his dreams, and he wanted nothing more than to be in my presence.

I know it’s silly, but I’d love to hear him say it again.

Sadly, he doesn’t seem inclined to repeat himself the way he did last night.

He glances around the messy apartment. “Why didn’t you kick me out?”

I put my mug on the coffee table between the sofas. “You’re a cute drunk. Plus, someone out there could have taken advantage of you.” I nod at him. “That pretty face has to have got you in trouble before.”

“I hoped you might be the trouble.” The lopsided smile he gives me makes his dimple pop. There it is .

Sparks burst against my skin. “Drunk guys are not my thing,” I say, hoping that my voice doesn’t reveal the fact that his proximity is causing a myriad of physical reactions I can’t control, and his every gesture is internally unravelling me.

I don’t think I’ve ever been this attracted to someone, ever .

“I’m sober more often than I’m drunk.” He levels a serious look my way. “I’d like to get to know you in sobriety.”

An ember of warmth flares in my chest, but a chill of fear quickly snuffs it out. Mum always told me men are animals, who are only interested in sex and food, and as Seb sits there watching my reaction to his words, I can’t help wondering if he’s nothing more than a well-dressed, handsome animal.

But if he is, I’m not sure I mind as much as I’m supposed to.