My Grumpy Billionaire

Chapter Eight

Sierra

I almost forget to breathe.

Let me take care of you.

I can’t remember the last time Todd said something like that to me. The Midnight God knows exactly what to say to slice right past my defenses and slide into my heart.

A tiny internal voice blares a warning. That isn’t all he wants to slide into. And Todd was smooth like this, too, when you first met him. You were dazzled, remember?

I brush aside the little voice of reason. It’s useful to listen to when I’m running Silicone Dream, but it’s being annoyingly negative right now. It isn’t like I’m trying to marry the Midnight God. I just want to see where this chemistry between us goes. We both have masks on. We haven’t exchanged names. And I’m in another city that might as well be a galaxy far, far away.

I can play a night of make-believe. Live a fairytale dream for a few hours. I deserve that after two years of crappy marriage that left me with an ex who refuses to accept it’s over.

The Midnight God carries me to his suite. It’s spacious and has an open archway that connects the living room to the bedroom. No door for partitioning, but it makes the suite appear bigger and airier. A minibar, a couch, an armchair, an ottoman and a coffee table occupy the living room side. A vase full of freshly cut white lilies fills the air with a heady perfume.

This suite is almost identical to mine on the floor below, except his is much more sedate—more ivory and cream than bold teals and pink. Somehow the pale colors suit him, making him appear more stark and powerful.

Another wave of awareness shoots through me. I lick my dry lips as he places me gently on the couch and puts my right foot on the ottoman in front of it.

There’s a knock on the door. He vanishes for a moment and then returns with a silver bucket filled with ice and a few Ziplock bags with the hotel logo on them.

Without saying anything, he makes an ice pack and wraps it in a towel. His movements are graceful and precise, a finely tuned marvel of male anatomy and human evolution. If civilization ended tomorrow and we all had to go back to hunting bison to survive, he’d be the leader of the hunting party. The alpha male.

He places the pack on my ankle, adjusting it just so. I let out a soft sigh. The cooling sensation feels heavenly.

“Thank you,” I say.

“You’re welcome.” He gives me a small smile, then goes to the minibar. “Something to drink?”

“Do you have whiskey or scotch?” I want another martini, but I don’t want to ask him to make me a cocktail after having done so much already.

He nods. “Scotch. Ice?”

“Please.”

He puts some ice into a glass and splashes the amber liquid into it. He pours one for himself, too. Two fingers, straight. He brings both over to the couch and sits next to me.

“Here.” He hands me mine.

“Thanks.” I sip it. The liquor is stronger than I generally prefer, but it has such a lovely oak note, with hints of smoke and caramel, that I can’t complain. “I feel like I should’ve bought you a drink. You know, to thank you for rescuing me and all that.”

“It’s nothing. All in a night’s work.”

“Is that so? Make a habit of rescuing damsels in distress? Well, that still doesn’t mean I’m not going to show you some gratitude.” I smile, the alcohol making me mellower. The drinks I had earlier are still coursing through my veins.

He takes another swallow of scotch, and I can feel the weight of his gaze. He’s sizing me up in that male way, top to bottom. It would be threatening if I didn’t feel comfortable with him. Or if there were no sizzling heat zinging through my system.

My mind is already stripping him. He wasn’t even winded after carrying me those four blocks. I felt the solid muscles against me when he had his arms under my knees and back, and had to bite my lip to contain a sigh of longing. My imagination is already conjuring an image of us tumbling on the couch—or the bed,I’m flexible—arms wrapped around each other and our mouths greedy.

“What are you doing in New Orleans?” he asks.

“It’s for a celebration.”

“For what?”

“For…” I stop, suddenly not wanting to talk about Todd or the divorce. It’s embarrassing that I was such a poor judge of character, and that my decision not only had consequences personally but professionally. Not because he got a piece of Silicone Dream—he didn’t—but because he became a distraction that made me less effective at my job.