The Billionaires (Lover's Triangle 1)

Probably not. They’d willingly and consciously split paths.

“So what are you doing here this evening?” she asked as she unlocked the double doors with crystal-cut glass insets and pushed one open.

Following her into the large foyer, Rogen said, “Need to talk business with you.”

Jewel disengaged the alarm, then dropped her keys into a decorative bowl on a narrow table against the wall and set her laptop bag at its base. Another table—a large, round one—sat in the middle of the foyer with a fresh bouquet of calla lilies in a slender, cylinder crystal vase. Rogen helped her out of her full-length coat and hung it on the rack in the corner, along with his brown distressed-leather jacket.

He took in the wide-open space of her home, with glossy hardwood floors, thick molding, rich wood accents. Three steps off the vast entryway led up to the bedrooms on the right, and three led down into the living room on the left.

He eyed the fireplace and the aspen logs stacked neatly next to the hearth and said, “Why don’t I make a fire and you go change into something comfortable? Get out of those five-inch heels you seem to love wearing.”

She gestured toward the fireplace and said, “It’s gas. The logs are just decorative. The switch is under the mantle.”

“Fine. I’ll pour wine instead.”

He wandered into the cavernous room while she went in the opposite direction. He lit the fire, then crossed to the wet bar and studied the impressive labels in the wine rack, selecting a Sangiovese. He pulled the cork and splashed a healthy amount into two glasses. Took a deep sip. Nearly spewed wine when he glanced over his shoulder at the sound of Jewel’s approach.

Turning to her, he said, “Jesus Christ. Do you always have to take my breath away?”

“It’s just lingerie.”

“Hardly.”

He set aside the glass and closed the gap between them. His fingers grazed the silky black material at her shoulders. “I don’t really see the need for the robe.”

He eased it down her arms and tossed it toward one of the sofas. She wore a black lace nightie with a tight, demi-bra bodice that plumped up her breasts and had crimson satin woven through it. A tiny matching bow sat between the valley of those enticing globes that nearly spilled over the scalloped edging. The rest of the material was clingy, sheer lace, hugging the dip of her waist and the curve of her hips, ending at the tops of her thighs. He wouldn’t be surprised if he caught a glimpse of ass cheek in the back.

Rogen’s muscles bunched and his cock sprang to life.

The woman did things to him. And she hadn’t even touched him. But he could tell she wanted to. Could see it in her eyes as her gaze roved his body, taking in his navy-colored T-shirt, the short sleeves straining against his bicep

s, a small portion of the bottom hem tucked behind a belt buckle. He was dressed in jeans and his dusty-tan suede boots.

Her gaze lifted to his face and her breath caught.

Reaching a hand out to him, Jewel grazed his abs with manicured fingernails. Then slipped her palm beneath his shirt to lightly caress his skin. Turning every inch of him rigid.

“Why does it feel like time just melts away when we’re together?” she asked in a quiet voice. “As though seven years apart don’t even exist.”

“Because we’re comfortable with each other. Aware of each other on every level.”

“Right.” She inhaled deeply, held the breath in for a few moments. “I love how you smell. So masculine. So tough, resilient.” She let out a soft laugh. “Those aren’t actual scents, are they?”

“I think I get it.”

“I think so, too. You always get me.”

Her sapphire eyes held myriad emotions. Some of them easy to peg. Longing. Adoration. Others not so simple to decipher. Because they ran deeper. Were more complicated.

Rogen grabbed a fistful of material at his nape, hauled his shirt over his head, and dropped it to the floor.

“Touch me,” he murmured, his own longing intensifying with every second she devoured him with her hungry gaze.

Her hands grazed his hot skin, up to his chest, along his shoulders. Down his arms. Back up, her nails trailing across his collarbone. Then her palms splayed over his pecs as Rogen’s head dipped. His lips swept over hers. His insides ignited.

He pulled her to him so that she had to shift her hands to his back, allowing their bodies to press together. He kissed her deeply, their tongues tangling. One hand combed through her silky hair. The other cupped an ass cheek and squeezed.

She returned his kiss with equal fervor, her fingertips digging into his solid muscles. Her body rubbed against his, making him hotter. Harder.