Always My Babygirl: A Billionaire Romance

I won’t allow her to sidestep.

“Then why don’t you and I go upstairs and have a little chat about this?”

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned a ‘chat,’ and I’m starting to get a little wary about what exactly that entails.”

“Then perhaps it’s best we get to a place where we can discuss matters at length, and privately.”

She’s so close, I can smell the mesmerizing scent of her perfume, flowery and just a bit spicy, exquisitely feminine. A stray strand of blonde hair falls onto her forehead. I brush it off, lean in, and kiss her, a chaste brush of my lips where her hair fell on her forehead. Her eyes widen, and her mouth parts.

“Are you with me?”

A beat passes before she swallows and nods. “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.”

She flushes even deeper.

The ride up on the elevator takes too long. I want her alone. Naked. On her knees before me, ready to do what I tell her. I want that contract signed, sealed, and delivered.

Now.

We finally arrive on my floor. I take her by the hand. It’s cold and clammy in mine, and I give her a sharp look.

“Are you nervous?”

She huffs out a laugh. “Who, me? Now why would I be nervous? There isn’t anything at all intimidating about a very massive, obviously jacked, somehow furious, sexy man who’s hired me to have sex with him, who’s outrageously furious at me for having the nerve to be a virgin?” She rolls her eyes and waves her hand. “Piece of cake.”

I narrow my eyes on her, which only makes her huff out again. “Definitely not helping my unease, if you were concerned about that or anything,” she mutters.

I don’t respond but take her to the entrance, slide my key card against the lock, then shove the door open when the little light turns green.

“Oh, wow,” she murmurs.

I give her a curious look. She shrugs. “I forgot for a minute we were in a hotel.” She looks around. “Is Darius Morrow nearby?”

“He is. What do you know about Morrow?”

“He married a friend of mine,” she says. “But I’ve never been to the penthouse.”

Good.

The more I learn about her, the more I want her for myself. I don’t share well, never have, and I don’t plan on changing that.

“Darius’s primary residence is here at the casino,” I explain, ushering her in. The door clicks shut behind her, as her eyes take in every detail. “So yes, he lives in the penthouse, though that’s on the other side of the casino. This is just a suite I rent.”

“Not your primary residence?” she asks, one elegant eyebrow arched.

I walk in, shrug out of my suit coat, and hang it up on the coat rack. “No.”

She looks around the place without a word. To our right is the massive king-bed, with its gilded ivory headboard and matching linens. The bedroom opens up to a large sitting room with chocolate brown leather furniture, accented with ivories and creams. A small end table holds a vase of white roses.

In front of us, the large window opens to a balcony, giving us a view of the Vegas skyline with magnificent twinkling lights and large skyscrapers.

“Nice place you’ve got here.”

I smile at her. “Thank you.” I take one of my hands out of my pocket and point to the sofa. “Have a seat, Miranda.”

She walks unsteadily on her high heels and sits on the very edge of the sofa, as if she’s prepared to run at any moment. I pace in front of her. Thinking. Planning.

“Say something.”

I turn my head to look at her. “Excuse me?”

“Well, don’t just pace there like someone’s about to die. Just make up your mind and say it already.”

“Say what?”

She rolls her eyes. “Anything.”

Anything?

“So you don’t want me to filter myself?”

“I suppose conversation for polite company would be appropriate.”

I raise a brow at her. “I suppose. I’m not polite company, so I wouldn’t know.”

“You’re not?”

Not if the toys I have hidden in the closet have anything to do with it.

I walk over to her, taking in every detail. I love the way her fingertips graze her collarbone when she’s nervous, the way her lips part just so.

“I’m not. You haven’t surmised that yet, then?”

I turn toward the bar and pour myself a scotch.

“Drink?”

She nods. “Yes, please.”

“Any preference?”

She shakes her head.

It was only a polite question. I already know exactly what she likes and had it brought up for tonight. I pour her a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon and bring it over to her.

“Thank you.” She eyes the large glass of wine, and her eyes flit up to mine as she takes a sip. “Oh, that’s delicious.”

“Glad you like it. My family owns a vineyard in France, and this is one of their most popular varieties.”

“Really?”

I nod, and sit beside her. “Really.”

She exhales. “Listen, Gabriel, if I’m going to—”