Bound by Him (The Billionaire's Club 3)

“In other words,” she finished, when he continued merely staring, “we’re no longer roommates, Andrew. If you want to see me, you’re going to have to pull out all the stops and ask me out like all my others admirers.”

The last was a stretch, but competition was never bad to begin with.

“So you will make it challenging then?” he said, sounding neither pleased nor displeased. Curious, maybe. Intrigued.

“What can I say, I like it hard,” she said, smirking.

“And I like finding myself in tight spaces.”

His words, and their sexual meaning, made her laugh. “This is just an affair, Andrew. All right? I don’t trust you anymore,” she said.

But she wondered who she was really trying to convince here.

The bedsheet wrapped tightly around her, she grabbed her dress from the floor and headed straight toward the bathroom.

He watched her the entire time, and the amusement in his voice wasn’t lost on her. “Delude yourself all you want, darling. But you trust no one else but me.”

She tried passing him on her way to the bath, but he blocked the door with a powerful bare arm clamped to the other side. The one he’d apparently been doing bicep curls with for three years—all day long.

“Do I get a kiss from my sweet lover?” He rolled the words on his tongue, and her body temperature rose a degree.

“When she brushes her teeth, you might.”

“Oh, there’s no might about it.”

With that, he dropped his arm to let her pass and she slid inside, closed the door, and locked herself behind it until she calmed herself down.

He just drove her too batty. Mad. Hot out of her ever-loving mind.

She didn’t even know how she was going to be able to successfully play hard to get with him, but she had no other choice after the way he’d acted for three years. As if she meant nothing. As if what they had together had meant nothing.

Angry in remembrance, she prettied herself with extra diligence, wanting to be sure he would want her badly when he saw her. And of course he would not have her today. Not today and not until he began proving his devotion to her again.

When she finally emerged decently pretty and feeling a bit ridiculous in a sparkly evening dress at this hour, she found Andrew partly dressed and knotting up his tie. She wanted to melt, he looked so beautiful. In fact, she’d always been turned on like crazy in the mornings when she watched him get dressed after a glorious night together. That’s what this man did to her. Crazy things. Melting things.

He spotted her and his smile appeared, slow as ice melting. “Good morning, lover.”

Okay. Was he mocking her?

His eyes certainly seemed a little mocking as he sauntered over, in those dark slacks and crisp buttoned shirt, looking not only beautiful but illegal.

He seized her hand and steepled her fingers with his. As he laced his long fingers through hers, their tattoos became aligned, and the heat of his palm seeped into hers.

Her heart ached.

He’d always done this . . . always in the morning, in bed, smiling.

The memory was almost too much to bear, severely making fun of her most recent proposal of this—whatever this catastrophe was called—being an affair of old lovers only.

“Good morning,” was all she could say, barely managing through the ball of need gathering inside her chest.

Glinting black eyes watched her with pure male humor. “I wish I didn’t have such a hectic day ahead, otherwise, I’d like to spend it with my . . . lover.” His voice was low and provocative, peppered with amusement. And even then, the silky timbre made her remember all of his intimate words of last night, and she could feel an instant surge of warm liquid pooling between her thighs.

“That’s all right, I actually have a packed day myself,” she purred sweetly, returning his charm with a little bit of hers. “Tonight’s another gala. This one’s in the aid of abused children, and I’m one of the organizers. I also have a board meeting at Donahue’s.”

“Ahh,” he said in answer, then he eased back and reached for his sable jacket. He studied her through thick, spiky black lashes as he rammed his arms into the sleeves. “You impress me, Whitney. You really do, darling.” He adjusted his collar, and it was all she could do not to fix it for him. “Jerry’s downstairs. He can take you anywhere.”

“Thank you, I’ll walk. It’s not far and I enjoy it. And don’t . . . call me darling, please. It’s an affair, remember? You need to earn it, Andrew.”