Secret Billionaire's Frosty Lover (The Secret Billionaires 3)

She put in something with car chases and exploding and action. Dominic got distracted by some of the scenes, but mostly he watched Paris. At some point when the tension got high, she tucked her feet up under her. He touched her toes, found them cold and pulled them onto his lap. She glanced at him and he told her, “Just warming them.”

An explosion pulled her attention back to the screen. He stroked his hand over her foot. She had strong feet, high arches, and unpainted nails. He liked that about her. She was practical—but she couldn’t balance her books. She was down to earth—but now he knew she cried over comedies and laughed over action films. She fascinated him—how the light played off her hair, how her moods showed up so fast in her eyes.

He settled back and let the movie drone on.

At some point, a soft hand traced down his cheek. He blinked his eyes open. Paris stood in front of him. She’d turned off the lights and the movie had ended. The half eaten popcorn bowl sat on the coffee table with the remains of the soup and bread.

He sat up and Paris stepped back. Glancing at her, he asked, “I fell asleep?”

“Right at the good part.” Wiggling her fingers, she held out her hand. “Come on, I’ll help you up.”

He took her hand. She pulled and he surged up from the couch and into her arms. She teetered, but he caught her tight. Her red hair fanned around her face. Dominic touched a hand to her hair. “You’re beautiful.”

Her cheeks pinked. “You’re a little drunk.”

“On one glass of whiskey? The only thing I’m drunk on is you.” He touched a finger to her cheek. Her eyes darkened. Her lips parted and he knew she was about to say something sensible. He didn’t want to be sensible. He put a finger over her lips. “Don’t say it.”

She pulled back. “Say what?”

“You’re going to say you’re not really beautiful, or that we shouldn’t really do this, or that—”

Wrapping a hand around the back of his neck she pulled his mouth down to hers. She kissed him long and hard and then let go. “Stop telling me what I’m going to say.”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “Oh, like I was wrong?”

She grinned. “Okay, I was going to say all that, but…” She let the words drift.

“But what?” He took her face in his hands. Her body pressed into his, warm and soft. “What, Paris?”

She put her hands over his. “But I don’t want to say any of those things. I don’t want today to end, either.”

“Let’s see what we can do to push the dawn back.”

She smiled and touched his lips. “Am I going to regret this? Regret letting you get too close?”

He shook his head. “I can’t promise that. I can’t promise anything—except that I can make damn sure you have a great memory, no matter what else happens.”

She smiled, but the smile seemed a little shaky. “I…you know…it’s rare to find honesty. Even rarer to give it.”

Something wrapped around Dominic’s chest and squeezed hard. He didn’t know what to do about that—but he had Paris in his arms. That was something he could handle. Leaning down, he covered her lips with his.

Chapter Twelve

His kiss set her on fire. She could think of nothing else except his hands on her face, and then slipping under her sweatshirt and onto her bare skin. She shivered and did the same.

He groaned at her touch. Pulling back, he dragged off her sweatshirt and then pulled off his sweater. She touched his chest, marveled at the muscles, at the soft dusting of hair. Firelight flickered over him. He pulled her down with him onto the couch.

Cupping her breast, he rubbed the pad of his thumb over her nipple. She gave a gasp and wrapped her leg around his. She loved the feel of him on top of her—not too heavy, holding her down so she wouldn’t fly to pieces. Anticipation coiled inside her, along with the need for him. Sucking in a breath, she closed her eyes. His hands trailed over her, and then his mouth.

He sucked a nipple into his mouth, drawing back and tugging with his lips until she arched her back and cried out for more. Sitting back, he undid her jeans and pulled them off. Then he rose and slipped off his sweatpants. He pulled a condom from the pocket, tore it open and rolled it on. She reached for his hand and pulled him back down to cover her.

Fisting his hands into her hair, he kissed her again. When he shifted his kisses to her neck, she gave a soft hum. “More,” she muttered.

Reaching down, he stroked into her, his fingers warm and firm. She stroked a hand over his bare shoulder. “More,” she whispered again.

He shifted and pushed into her—just the tip of his penis, pushing. She arched and wiggled to give him more room, and he slipped in. She gave a sharp gasp. He stilled. “Did it hurt?”

“Been a while,” she said.