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

Bayli would never mistake his low, deep, intimate tone.

She sucked in a sharp slice of air. Every nerve ending that had been frayed moments earlier now exploded. Her hand fell away from her ear and she hit the disconnect button with her thumb.

In a breathy voice, she said, “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Christian made a soft tsking sound as he stepped around her and they were suddenly face-to-face.

“That’s shocking,” he told her.

“Not really. I’m new to the city,” she reminded him. “And I have my career to focus on.”

Plus, Bayli had decided long ago that she’d never settle for flickers of excitement when fireworks might be waiting for her around the corner.

She fought the smile now as she considered that she’d turned that corner this very night. Because her pulse pounded erratically at the sight of Christian and his wildly charismatic grin.

“Well, then. Duly noted,” he said, his gorgeous blue eyes penetrating and hypnotic. “Can I drop you somewhere? I had business with Jackson Rutherford while everyone was leaving. That’s my limo.”

Bayli spared another glance at the Jag.

Christian told her, “I’m on the Upper East Side overlooking the park, and you can have a drink with me there. Or my driver will take you straight to your apartment. Whatever you want.”

Whatever you want …

That was such a loaded comment. A double-edged sword, really.

She could take Christian up on his offer and then grab a cab to her place. Easy enough. Except that she was attracted to him in the sort of way that would make vying for the hostess job difficult, because he was a near-impossible-to-resist temptation. And it wasn’t in Bayli’s nature to sleep with a man to get what she wanted.

Yet if she were to just say to hell with the job…?

She sighed inwardly.

Yeah, if she said to hell with the job, then sleeping with him would be her first order of business. Particularly if that fire in his eyes had anything to do with her.…

Still wanting the hostess position, though, made standing her ground imperative. Added to that challenging feat was the fact that there was no goddamn cab coming for her. No one else to rescue her. And honestly, it’d be a fantastic opportunity to chat up Christian and then discuss the possibility of the part-time job in his restaurant.

So she told him, “I guess my driver got lost. I’d love a ride into the city. And thanks for the offer.”

Total savior, but she was still a little too embarrassed over being stood up by the cabbie to say that out loud.

Christian gestured for her to precede him toward the limo, where the chauffeur held the back door open for them. Bayli slid across the black leather seat. Christian divested himself of his tuxedo jacket before joining her. He unraveled his bow tie but left the ends resting against his crisp white shirt, which he unbuttoned at the throat.

There was no way she could escape his virility, his magnetism. His very essence seemingly surrounded her. And good Lord, he took up a hell of a lot of space with his broad shoulders and his powerful thigh brushing against her bare leg. Sending a wave of desire rushing through her veins.

He asked, “Where are we off to?”

Every fiber of her being wanted to agree to his apartment. Especially with all the zings he incited homing in on her erogenous zones. Along with the suggestive expression on Christian’s too-handsome-for-words face.

Seriously, the man was a masterpiece from head to toe, and Bayli’s fingers itched to work the rest of those tiny disks through their holes, sweep back the flaps of his shirt, and just enjoy the sight of all that bronze skin and sinew. Though that’d hardly be enough, and she knew it. She’d want to do so much more than look. She’d want to touch this fantastically built man. Everywhere.

Her stomach fluttered as the thought of running her tongue over his hot, hard flesh overruled her more sensible thoughts. Like the fact that in addition to not being able to cave to a “drink” at his place, she also didn’t want to tell him where she lived.

Talk about humiliation.

So she forced the tantalizing ruminations from her head—as best as she could, anyway—to focus on the appropriate answer to his query.

And lied through her teeth to Christian Davila.

“Actually, I’m staying at The Cleveland. It’s a boutique hotel.” She gave the crossroads.