A Billionaire for Christmas - Page 41
She fled.
The door slammed behind her.
Raji flipped back the sheets and emerged, laughing her head off. “I can’t believe you told her you were jacking off!”
Peyton fanned himself. “I need to throw the double-lock on these hotel doors. Geez, that was close.”
Raji said, “And now to make sure that you don’t get a case of blue balls after being interrupted in your attempt at self-love—”
Her warm, wet mouth closed on the head of his cock.
Peyton laid back on the pillows and closed his eyes.Chapter Twenty-SixA Christmas Question“Come to Connecticut with me for Christmas,” Peyton said.
Los Angeles was still warm and dry in early November, not that Peyton could see that from the glittering lights below Raji’s apartment window.
“But it’s cold in Connecticut,” Raji said, still lounging in bed, naked. When she squirmed, the tattooed snake on her back writhed. “If I wanted to be cold, I’d go to New Jersey instead of having my mother come to California.”
“So she’s coming here?”
“Yeah, it’s all set. Amma always visits me for a few days. She also cooks a metric ton of food so that I don’t have to cook for a month, afterward.”
“Oh, that’s nice.”
So it would probably be January until they saw each other again. Maybe February.
Dammit.
This craving for Raji would intensify over the weeks that they were separated, just like it always did, until the starving dog of missing her snapped at everyone around him.
When Peyton had been with Georgie, even after she’d run away, he’d missed her in a youthful, innocent way. A puckish streak of mischief had run through their relationship. Both of them knew their relationship pissed off their parents no end, especially when Peyton had escorted Georgie when she made her debut at Cotillion so that all their friends knew.
But this yearning for Raji felt different, so different.
He longed to laze in bed with her and listen to her talk and laugh, to run his hands and tongue over her satiny skin, to trace the dark lines of her tattoos and discuss what each one meant, to revel in her triumphs and hold her when a patient didn’t make it, to sink into her delicious body, and to not leave again.
He said, “There’s a Christmas party at the Greenwich Yacht Club that I attend every year. I thought it might be fun.”
“Good God, Peys. Someone would surely recognize you there.”
“Of course, but you would use an assumed name. It’s a discreet affair. People bring their mistresses and misters all the time. No one talks. It would be gauche.”
“Rich people are weird, and it sounds hoity-toity. Why do you go to it?” She used chopsticks to eat a piece of Kung Pao Chicken from a takeout box.
“I have gone every year since I was a kid, since I was allowed out in public.”
“How silly.”
He laughed. “The canapés are delicious.”
“Oh. Canapés.” She ate an eggroll without looking up.
“There’s an open bar.”
“Now you’re talking my language. I can’t, though. Residents are always on call at Christmas. Low surgeon on the totem pole, you know. Because I’m getting higher up, I might have my choice of New Year’s or Easter off.”
“New Year’s,” Peyton said. “Take New Year’s off and meet me so I can kiss you at midnight.”
She cocked her head at him. “Peyton, are you getting all emo?”
He straightened, laughing. “Of course not. I’m a callous rock star who wants to fuck a groupie. Meet me in New York, and I’ll make you come right when the year changes.”
She ate another bite, staring at the ceiling thoughtfully. “New York, huh?”
“Killer Valentine has a concert on New Year’s Day in the City.”
“I’d love to see it.”
“You can watch from backstage.”
“No, Peyton. I can’t.”
Because people in Killer Valentine would find out they were dating. “Then I’ll get you front row seats.”
“Maybe good seats, but not front row. Not too close.”
Yes, not too close, and Peyton’s heart sank. “Deal.”Chapter Twenty-SevenInto The Devilhouse“I can’t believe this place,” Raji said, scanning the crowd packed around them. Even though it was almost midnight, people thronged the nightclub’s dance floor and crowded the balconies above. The smoke from the sizzling steaks from earlier still lingered in the air, though the excellent whiskey had washed the taste down Raji’s throat.
Peyton laughed as he held her in his arms, waltzing as a string quartet played a waltz. Speakers bolted to the ceiling and walls all around the cavernous space amplified the music to fill Raji’s ears and chest until she felt like she was floating.
A perilous tremor started in Raji’s chest again, flopping in there like a panicked trout. Her eyes burned, and she told herself No, no, no, not here, not now, not ever. Shove it all away. She sucked a deep breath in, her lungs pushing out her ribs. The slim whalebones in the black dress she wore pinched her waist as she tried to breathe, but she steadied herself.
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