The Billionaire's Gamble

Yanking her towards me, I flip her underneath me and pin her to the bed with my body. We’re eye to eye, and I see the laughter there, and also the need. My mouth is on her neck before I can stop myself, tasting her skin. I move to her breasts, knowing even now that we’re not going to be sleeping much anymore.

“What are you doing?” she asks, breathless already.

I raise myself up to meet her eyes, cocking an eyebrow. “Stop talking,” I say, “and let me do this.”

She laughs, and I dive down to taste her skin again. This woman is going to be the death of me.

5

Dani

There’s something beeping in my ear. I want to kill it.

Groaning, I rub at my eyes and try to sit up. But I can’t. There’s a very solid and deliciously warm arm wrapped around my naked body. Wait, naked? Looking over at Nolan sleeping beside me, it all comes back.

Last night was…wow. Watching him sleep is strange. I kind of like it, though. He’s so peaceful… so relaxed. I’d be relaxed, too, if that alarm would shut up. Why is it even going off? A flutter of despair swims through me. “Oh shit!” I say loudly. “My flight!”

Nolan stirs, sitting up to blink at me. “What’s wrong?”

I roll off the bed, landing hard on the rug. “My plane, I need to get changed before I miss it!” In a blur I redress, trying to find everything I discarded. I’ve got almost all of it, but as I spin around the room, I can’t find one thing.

“Here,” Nolan says behind me. I freeze, spotting him standing in the corner with my bra in one hand and an amused smirk on his handsome face. I go to take it from him, but he shakes his head. “This might be the last time I see you. Let me do it.”

His words take the wind from my sails. The last time? Ugh. He’s right, though. Neither of us lives in Vegas. In fact, I’ve got no clue where Nolan lives. I turn around, holding my arms up so he can scoop the bra around my front, then clip the back. The bra itself feels a little strange, but then again, I don’t usually have someone put it on me. He helps me into my dress, and my body noticeably laments the fact that he’s helping me put clothes on. But I can’t think about that right now—I’ve got other things to worry about.

Nolan is in just his slacks and shirt from last night, the vest and tie gone. “I’ll walk you to your room.”

“You mean run me there,” I say, practically flinging the door to the hallway open. “If I don’t run I’ll probably miss—” Light explodes in my eyes, and for a second I’m blind. I stumble backwards into Nolan. “What the hell?”

“Got it!” a deep voice says. Heavy footsteps shake the floor as someone runs off.

“Son of a bitch,” Nolan growls, pulling me behind him like he’s shielding me. “Fucking paparazzi.”

I’m still dazed, clinging to him as my vision returns to normal. “Did you just say paparazzi? What’s going on?”

He tugs me back inside the hotel room, glancing out the door as if he expects more photographers to appear out of thin air. “I’m sorry. There’s a very good chance—no. Not a chance. Your photo will be all over the internet in a probably a few hours.”

Okay, now I’m really lost. “You lost me at paparazzi. Why would anyone stalk your door to take a photo of me?”

“Not of you, exactly… of us. Of me.” He grimaces, looking at the floor. “Have you ever heard of the Silver Lions?”

I’m ready to say that I haven’t, but something triggers in my brain. Gerard. The creeper from last night said something about Silver Lions in his monologue about how great he was. “You’re one of those bankers?”

He makes a face again. “Yeah. It’s a tabloid name they came up with for us, and as much as I hate it, it stuck.” Taking a deep breath, he looks me right in the eye. “I’m Nolan Coldwater. Chairman of the Board at Coldwater Bank. The press have had a growing fascination with us—with me—lately. I’m sorry, Dani, I should have told you.”

I feel like the ground sways underneath me. Everything makes sense now. The risky gambling, his fancy clothes, being here for work. A thought occurs, “But wait, I don’t understand. Why did you…choose me?” The words feel funny in my mouth, and I hope against hope that I wasn’t wrong. I hope that Nolan isn’t a guy who fucks everything that moves and that what might have been one of the best nights of my life isn’t about to burst into flames because I don’t read tabloids and didn’t know who Nolan Coldwater was. The questions come hard and fast in my mind—how many other women has he brought to this hotel room? How many other women has he flirted with over whiskey? Does any of it even matter if I’m never going to see him again?