Wicked Bad (The Billionaire's Fake Finace 1)

He turned my hand and pressed his lips to my wrist then set it back on my armrest. The hand that had been snaking up my thigh fell away. His jaw clenched and he stared out the window before his gaze pinned me to my seat.

“Are you always this responsive?” he all but demanded. “Is a touch all it takes and you’re ready for any man?” His voice was strained and harsh, but not as harsh as his words.

I pulled back as far as the seat would let me. The heat from a few moments earlier was gone, replaced by a cold feeling seeping into my bones.

“I asked you a question, Skylar.”

I glared at him as a strange sense of vulnerability whispered over my skin. I’d never reacted to any man like this before, not with such an intense desire from just a touch, and I didn’t understand it. How was I supposed to explain it to him? “It’s a question that doesn't even deserve an answer,” I said.

“I want an answer. Is it my touch that makes your breath catch and your nipp**les hard? Or could it be anyone with his hands on you? The truth.”

“What does it matter?” I managed, feeling equally pinned by his questions and his gaze.

His entire body was tensed and vibrating with something I couldn't figure out. One minute he was playing me like a violin, and the next, it was almost as if I had disappointed him. I had no idea what he wanted.

He was still waiting for my answer to his question, and he wouldn’t be denied.

“Not that I’ve had much of a chance to explore it, but no, I do not normally react like this to anyone, much less a stranger,” I finally admitted. “I’m sure you’re used to having women melting under your touch every second of the day, but that has never been me. So the answer you want? It’s you and I have no idea why.” My admission hung in the air between us.

The tightness left his muscles and I watched him visibly relax. Satisfaction rolled off him in waves. He wanted the answer to be him? I tried to see into his eyes, but he appeared to have himself under control again.

“The table is ready, Sir,” Gretchen said from behind me. “If you both would follow me please.”

I unbuckled my seatbelt and stood. Madden came up behind me and laid his hand on my hip as we walked the few feet to the table. I could feel him at my back, the heat coming from him enveloping me in that hazy warmth and fought the urge to lean against him.

Gretchen held out a chair for me and I sat. The table was worthy of a five star restaurant, set with white china plates that had delicate red scrolls along the edges. A cup of fruit, artfully arranged, had been placed on the center of the plate and a napkin folded into a swan sat in front of it. A fluted glass had been filled with orange juice.

Madden took his seat and nodded to Gretchen who moved out of the room. It was like watching a choreographed dance and everyone except me knew the moves. I took my napkin off the plate and spread it across my lap.

Yesterday, if anyone had said I’d be on a private jet flying to a private resort with an achingly handsome man, I’d have laughed my head off. Madden raised his glass and I lifted mine.

“To memorable weekends,” he said.

They clinked together and I took a sip. It was the best orange juice I ever had in my life. It was also the best fruit, like each bite had been selected at exactly the right moment of ripeness. Bursts of sweet strawberry and mango and pineapple coated my tongue. When I had finished, I was half tempted to tip the cup up and drink the juice in the bottom.

Gretchen appeared out of nowhere and whisked away the empty bowls, then set a silver tray in front of each of us. With a delicate flick of her wrist, she took the tops off and was again gone.

The aroma hit me first and my stomach growled so loud it could be heard over the engines.

“Lobster omelet with a light cream sauce and prosciutto wrapped asparagus spears. If anything is not to your liking I can have Gretchen make whatever you’d like.”

I inhaled again before picking up my fork. The first bite was heaven. Pure blissful heaven. I should have taken the time to marvel at how the cream sauce played with the flavor of the lobster without overpowering it, or how the saltiness of the prosciutto married perfectly against the slight bitterness of the asparagus, but my mouth was already hungrily gobbling the incredible food.

“It was acceptable then?” Madden asked with a lifted eyebrow and an amused smile.

I looked down and saw that my plate was empty. “Delicious, thank you.”

Once again Gretchen appeared and took our plates. “Would you like a cappuccino or a latte, Miss?”

This just kept getting better. “Cappuccino would be great, thank you.” Gretchen smiled at me then turned to Madden. “Your usual, Sir?”