Kidnapping the Billionaire's Baby
She wanted him. He wanted her. It was more than enough.
It was everything.
When he swept her up into his arms and carried her toward the bed, she threw her head back and laughed in abandon.
“This is crazy,” she cried.
He smiled a million watts worth of pleasure. “I know. And I don’t give a damn. I want you too much. You are perfectly lovely.”
Floating in a fog of euphoria, she batted her eyelashes. “You’re sure it’s me you want, and not my perfectly lovely cassava, right?”
He lowered her to the mattress and lovingly set her down with care. “I don’t give a damn about your cassava right now.”
“Thank God,” she said, starting to feel a little self-conscious as his hot gaze raked over her naked body.
His eyes flashed, then he gave the devil’s own grin. “Now, the DNA manipulation techniques you developed, that’s another matter. I’ve got plenty of interest left in that, though it’s seriously on the back burner at the moment.”
Amara blinked once, twice. He was joking, right? Surely. He had to be joking. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do,” he said, unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his pants. “Damn, you’re sexy. Hot as hell in the bedroom and a genius money-maker in the lab. I’m going to take you hard and —”
“Wait a minute,” Amara interrupted, sitting upright. “What do you mean, a money-maker in the lab?”
He unzipped his fly, and Amara couldn’t resist a peep. Hmm. Boxer briefs. Her favorite. Especially with a bulge the size of —
“I don’t know what I mean,” Quint said. “You’ll have to forgive me, but I’m not exactly thinking with my brain right now.” He stared at her bare breasts.
She grabbed a pillow from behind her and held it in her lap, covering herself for the most part. “Well, I’m thinking with my brain, and it’s wondering what you mean about my DNA extraction techniques and money.”
His pants fell around his ankles, and he stood there beside the bed, hands on lean hips, chest bare and muscles rippling over his chest and stomach. And his thighs. He had very powerful-looking thighs.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
“That won’t work. I’m distracted now, and I can’t think of anything but what you meant by that.”
He sighed in frustration. “I was joking.”
“Tell me, do you care about feeding hungry people, or do you only care about making money off of hungry people?”
“Can’t I do both?”
“Nope.”
He bent over and pulled up his pants. “You’re wrong. You’re taking the typical far-left stance that charity must be non-profit and you’re —”
She’d interrupted him then, hotly accusing him of greedy self interest, and the conversation had only gone downhill from there. The flames of passion which had pulled them together, now turned on them and drove them apart.
Amara quickly dressed herself, grabbed up her purse and headed to the door.
“This was a complete waste,” she muttered loudly as she opened the door.
Behind her, Quint blew out a long breath. “Amara, this got out of hand. Come back. Let’s talk about it. We’ll have a drink and calm down. Talk it out.”
She stopped in the doorway and turned to look at him. He was a magnificent sight, standing in the spacious, glamorous living room, the indirect light from the wall sconces playing over the smooth skin of his bare chest.
She mentally shook herself. No. She wouldn’t fall under his spell again.
“There’s nothing to talk out,” she said. “I thought you were interested in saving people’s lives. I see now you only wanted to get your hands on my techniques.”