The Billionaires: The Bosses (Lover's Triangle 2)

Christian’s interest was instantly piqued. She did more than work the crowd. She engaged fully with each person she spoke to, and left numerous tongues dragging on the ground as she moved on to the next group.

His gaze remained partially on the Bond Girl–esque cigar hostess as she progressed across the terrace, on her way to his intimate conglomeration.

Eckhart injected a bit of humor into his dissertation, amusing the three other men in their cluster. Christian chuckled along, though he really hadn’t heard the punch line. There was something wholly enthralling about the woman. And it wasn’t just her striking appearance—the bare, mile-long legs, or the itty-bitty off-the-shoulder dress she wore that hugged every luscious curve. The sleeves covered her wrists, one of which was adorned with a glittery bracelet.

Nor was it the shiny, sleek, nearly black hair that was pulled over one shoulder, the ends subtly curling against her tantalizing chest.

He’d say that perhaps it was her vibrant pearl-white smile that held him spellbound. Her tawny irises were also radiant with an inner exuberance that called to Christian. Seriously, the woman burned brighter than a bonfire.

Though that wasn’t it, either.

Another zinger from Eckhart had the guys laughing again, and Christian was late joining in.

His old college buddy snickered. “Really, Davila. What has you so out of touch with my impeccable comedic timing and the snappy delivery of my witty repar—aha.…”

Apparently, Eckhart also caught the flash of red as the woman approached them in what could only be described as the sexiest goddamn walk on the planet. One that caused heart rates to accelerate, adrenaline to pump, and cocks to stiffen.

He could attest from personal experience.

She slowly made her way toward Christian and his friends, crisscrossing one gorgeous leg in front of the other in a seductive stride that showed off her considerable assets and the five-inch black leather stilettos she wore.

Forgetting all about Eckhart and the others, Christian now centered his full attention on this stunning creature.

In a provocative voice that resonated deep within him, she greeted everyone with a courteous, “Good evening, gentlemen.” Then her gaze met and held Christian’s. “Mr. Davila, it’s a pleasure to serve you.” She lifted the lid of the humidor with manicured fingers. No ring on that important one of her left hand. Though it could be stashed away at home. A woman who looked the way she did, and in her mid-to-late twenties, couldn’t possibly have avoided being snatched up by now.

Yet he found himself hoping she was single.

“May I offer you an Arturo Fuente Opus X ‘A’?” she asked him. “Or perhaps a Fuente Don Arturo AnniverXario?”

Her enunciation was above reproach. Damn sensual, even. His brow crooked. “Those are very serious cigars.” He noted a wider selection available and wondered if she was pushing the extremely high-end b

rands to all the guests. Or just to the ones she recognized.

“Indeed,” she said of his comment. “They rank in the top five of the most expensive cigars in the world. Not exactly easy to procure, either. But a man of your stature already knows that.” There was a sexy, flirtatious lilt to her tone. She continued, expertly pontificating on the merits of her recommendations, as well as discussing their size, shape, and shade. Instantly impressing Christian with her vast knowledge—regardless of where it might have come from: a boyfriend, a book, or a broker of fine cigars.

Then she added, “I also have one HMR Gurkha Black Dragon tucked away.” She smiled conspiratorially, letting that little tidbit sink in. Tempt him. Though it wasn’t so much the prestigious stogie that enticed him. She was more than capable of doing that all on her own.

With a hint of excitement in her eyes, she told him, “I haven’t suggested it to anyone else. I thought you might prefer a celebratory offering in honor of your latest restaurant opening. To rave reviews, no less. Congratulations.”

This intrigued him even more. Not only did she know who he was, but she also knew he was a connoisseur of expensive cigars.

Christian said, “There’s a three-year wait-list for a box of HMR Black Dragons, and that one stick is worth about eleven hundred dollars.”

“They’re all complimentary, of course. And…” She leaned in close to quietly impart a little pearl of wisdom, saying, “Rumor has it, Matthew McConaughey donated this cigar as part of his charitable contribution for the gala.”

Christian kept his tone equally low, private. “I’m more appreciative that you held it back for me, though I’ll be sure to thank Matthew personally.”

“Very good.” She smiled again, beguilingly. Bewitchingly. Christian wasn’t sure of the more accurate description. All he knew was that her engaging expression and glowing eyes jarred him, like a physical blow to the midsection.

And told him quite blatantly that he’d just stumbled upon more than an elusive cigar this evening. He was damn certain he’d just put his finger on the pulse of an elusive success. He felt it to the depths of his soul—and straight to his groin.

She’s the one.

And he suddenly itched to phone Rory to tell him of this amazingly perfect discovery.

This woman just might be the answer to their problems. Both of them. Though he had to temporarily back-burner that second issue. Sure, Rory would find this woman attractive and mesmerizing. Would no doubt feel the same rush of heat through his veins and the same pulsing of his cock that Christian did at the moment. But that wasn’t the most important revelation at hand—significant though it was, since both men had been waiting, waiting, waiting for the right woman to enter their lives.

They’d sampled their fair share, yes. But had never found one capable of holding both their interests for more than a few nights. The way his blood turned to magma convinced Christian this one had the potential to be more than a temporary bedmate or a passing fancy. A woman both men would enjoy pleasuring. Repeatedly.