A Billionaire for Christmas

But I wasn’t.

She was a very attractive young lady. I couldn’t help how my body reacted. I’d been respectful. For the most part.

“This is me,” Weston said, pointing out the window to his building.

My driver pulled over next to a large bank of snow. To be fair, the entire street was banked with snow, lingering from the storm the day before.

“Guess I’m going snowshoeing,” Weston said with a sigh. He stepped out of the car and immediately cursed, the door slamming before I could make out the full extent of his blaspheme.

I leaned over Audrey, and not just because I wanted to smell the rose bouquet in her perfume, but so that I could roll the window down and call after my partner.

“Have a good Thanksgiving,” I said, “if I don’t see you again before the holiday.” He was flying off somewhere later in the week—Utah or Kansas—the United States Midwest was always a blur to this Hampshire native.

“You too, friend. It was good seeing you. If even briefly. And nice meeting you, Audrey.” He turned, stepping into the snow. “Fuck. These were a brand-new pair of Giacomettis.”

“You can put them out with the rubbish, along with your balls. Since you’re obviously not using them anymore.” I rolled up the window before he could throw back a dig of his own, but he got me with a simple flip of the bird.

I sat back in my seat, accidentally grazing my hand along Audrey’s bare knee.

Perhaps, not so accidentally, but I played it perfectly—the shocked drawback from the touch and an immediate apology, stammering so that she would indeed believe that the brush was innocent. With all the predators these days, I certainly didn’t want to be confused for one.

Or at least I wanted to be my own breed of predator. The kind that knew when to behave. Though the shock of the touch had sent fire through my blood, it wouldn’t be followed up with any pouncing.

We drove in silence for several minutes, a thick silence. Too thick. Too heavy, making the car hot and stuffy and tense.

I loosened my tie and stole another glance in her direction. She seemed to be lost in her own thoughts. Had I offended her after all with my touch?

Then I remembered the conversation from before Weston exited the car. That was more likely the cause of any hard feelings.

Normally, I would brush the whole thing off. Let her be offended. I wasn’t changing my stance on romance to please her.

The tension between us, though, wouldn’t dissipate. It seemed filled with more than just the words of what I had said. It was growing and breathing, and I felt the need to claw through it, the way you claw through bedsheets when they’ve twisted around you during a nightmare.

“You’ve been quiet,” I said. Obvious. To the point. “Have I rained on your love parade?”

She twisted her head in my direction, her eyes catching a reflection of a streetlight making them spark in the darkness.

“You can’t rain on my parade,” she proclaimed with a smile, as though she were Barbara Streisand herself. “I am firm in my faith.” She swiveled a little more in her seat, angling herself so that her body was pointing in my direction. “Are you quite sure that you’re firm in your disbelief?”

Heat traveled down my spine, liquid and molten. That’s what this tension was, then—not of a disgruntled nature, but of the sexual. I’d been attracted to her, yes. I hadn’t allowed myself to believe it might be mutual.

I studied her face. She had light almond eyes that were deep set in a pear-shaped face, her pallor flawless. Not a single line marred her skin. She was lovely. Delicious, I imagined. Fresh, like a peach. Her bee-stung lips, turned up on both sides below her apple cheeks, portrayed her as innocent.

I liked believing she was that innocent. It made it more fun to imagine what those lips could be taught. What they could be introduced to.

I’d sworn off love years ago, but not sex. Never sex. And Audrey Lind was all sorts of temptation, the kind I knew better to stay away from. She was too romantic. She was too American. She was too young. Much too young. I was definitely old enough to be her father. Probably.

Definitely.

I didn’t want to think about that.

She was also the sister of a subordinate, which felt highly inappropriate, especially since I was only in town for the week. Donovan might have gotten involved with the staff, but at least he’d seemed serious about it. A fling was another thing altogether, not as polite.

And none of that mattered since she was so very young.

“You’re hesitating,” she said, her smile broadening as though she’d won some sort of trophy. “Are you unsure of your answer?”

I had to remind myself of the question. “No. My commitment to refute love and relationships in all forms remains unwavering.” My eyes flickered to her plump lips. The delectable mouth.