The Temptation (Filthy Rich Americans 5)

The corner of her mouth tugged up into a smile. “I see.” Her eyes widened abruptly, and she over-exaggerated her enthusiasm. “Does this mean you’re taking me to Monaco?”

I knew it was a terrible idea, especially because I hoped she’d say yes. “If you want to go.”

She nodded, and . . . was all her enthusiasm fake? Because the excitement lighting her eyes seemed real.

“As partners,” I added. Was that the right word? I found a better one. “Friends.”

To seal the deal, I thrust the vodka toward her. She eyed the clear bottle with the blue label, then took it from me and pressed the mouth to her lips. There was something innately sexual about it. My lips had been on that glass just a minute ago, and now hers. I wondered if any of my taste lingered there, and if so, did she like that?

The sexy bob of her throat as she swallowed made my blood run south of my belt. God, I was weak. Getting half-hard over watching her take a drink was unacceptable.

It burst from me without warning. “I’m allowed to kiss you.”

What the fuck?

That was the thought running through both of our minds, judging by the way she slowly lowered the bottle and stared at me.

I raked a hand through my hair. “What I mean is, that’s not against the rules.”

She angled her head. “Rules?”

I needed to get control and put this conversation back on track, so I rushed through it. “Jillian and I talked about what was and wasn’t off limits. I was just letting you know because if we’re going to sell this relationship, we’ll need to kiss at some point.” The room seemed suddenly hot and uncomfortable. “When we’re in public. Not when we’re alone.”

Her amused expression was downright evil. “You’re saying you don’t want to kiss me when we’re alone?”

I glanced up at the ceiling and pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’m not saying that, but it’d be better if I didn’t.”

She brushed her thumb over the stem of the bottle, and I mentally begged her to stop. All I could picture was her hand on me and her wicked thumb trailing over the head of my dick. The temperature in the room skyrocketed until I was sweating beneath my dress shirt. I was so off my game, everything felt upside down with her.

“Let me give you some helpful advice,” she said. “Don’t tell me I’m sexy. Or hot. Or fucking gorgeous, because that shit is going to get in my head. If you don’t want to be tempted, then don’t tempt me.” Her tone softened. “Don’t make me like you, Vance.”

“That’s easy. There’s not much to like.”

It was meant to be glib and offhanded, but it came out sounding far too real, and I grimaced. I projected myself as a confident, carefree man who had everything he wanted, when the truth was anything but that. Alice had seen the real me and exploited it to her advantage. I wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

Sure, Jillian had caught a glimpse once or twice, but I’d avoided showing her the worst of it. How sometimes I’d hated myself even more than I’d hated my father.

It was impossible to tell if she meant it or if she were simply trying to be polite. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

To recover, I pushed out the most dazzling smile I had in my arsenal. “We can check back after a week in Monaco and see if you feel the same way.”

SIX

EMERY

Clouds blanketed the sky and threatened rain, but Vance wore sunglasses as he stood on the tarmac beside his family’s private jet. He was deep in conversation on his phone as I climbed out of the back seat of the Rolls Royce he’d sent to pick me up.

God, if my parents could see me now.

I should have gawked at the sleek, luxury airplane I’d spend the next nine hours on with him, but instead my gaze was drawn to the man. Vance wore a navy cashmere sweater and jeans. His clothes were casual and normal, yet he looked anything but average. There was an otherworldly sense about him, like the air parted and moved differently around him in a more respectful way.

Too much money, my father used to say, will make good people unrecognizable.

It wasn’t Vance’s fault he’d been born into wealth any more than it was my fault I’d come from a family that was broke. But as he stood there, looking like the world was at his fingertips, I felt both jealousy and admiration. I wanted a life like his.

When he spotted me lingering beside the Rolls Royce, he stopped talking mid-sentence. I couldn’t see his gorgeous blue eyes behind the dark lenses, but I imagined them studying and evaluating me.

I’d struggled with what to wear today, and finally settled on comfort over style. I wore a black motorcycle jacket over a gray t-shirt and fitted black sweatpants. His head tilted down in the direction of my black low-top Converses.