Dirty Sweet Wild (Bad Billionaires 2)

It was the most words I’d heard from his mouth, and his voice gave me a shiver. Low, rough. I just thought you were a woman who wanted to be fucked. He had a voice made for saying words like that.

I tried not to stare at him curiously. His place was tidy and clean, but it was obviously the apartment of a guy who lived alone and didn’t go out much: a TV, all those books, a set of hand weights in one corner, a laptop, a kitchen that was obviously stocked. I didn’t see any sign of a woman anywhere—no decorative bowls or nice paintings or tossed-aside clothes—and I hated how badly I wanted to know if my guess was right.

“Well, don’t worry,” I said, keeping my gaze away from the sofa, where he’d bent me over with that big body and practically made me scream. “I just had an itch, that’s all. A one-time thing. I can get sex anytime I want.”

He looked slightly alarmed. “You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”

“God! No,” I said. “Jeez. Do you have a girlfriend?” If you don’t answer me, I swear to God I’m going to search your bathroom for her tampons.

“Fuck no,” Max said. “I think you can guess that from the way I practically jumped you.”

Now my cheeks were warm. That was two firsts today: Tracking down a guy because I was worried about what he thought of me, and getting embarrassed talking about sex. “I didn’t mind,” I admitted, understatement of the year.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, rasping it over his beard, then ran it through his hair. “Okay,” he said, avoiding my gaze. “I have to ask you. Are you on the pill?”

Once again, the words hung there, along with the idea of this huge man impregnating me. Holy hell. But of course, he didn’t know. “Not only yes,” I told him, “but hell yes.”

He nodded, and his shoulders relaxed a little. “And have you been checked out?”

“You mean blood tests?” I put my hands on my hips. “Of course. You think I gave you something?”

“Gwen,” he said, “I didn’t even know your name until ten minutes ago.”

I stared at him, sent off-balance by how my name sounded in his mouth, and then I got myself together. “Well, I don’t have anything. Maybe you gave me something.”

“I didn’t,” he said.

“And how do I know that?”

“I can show you the paperwork,” he said. “I’ve had dozens of tests. I just had another one done this morning, if you want the latest.”

Dozens of tests? What did that mean? I’d noticed him limping when he came down the corridor toward his door. Jesus, Gwen, he’s just a guy you fucked. Stop being so curious. “Okay,” I said, taking my hands off my hips. “I’m sure it’s fine. Just… let me know the results.”

“You want to give me your number?” he asked. When my gaze flew to his, I watched his expression shut down, become carefully blank. “I’m not going to hassle you.”

And it struck me: He was shy. That was what the gruffness and the growling were all about. He was big, and he was hot, and he was smart, but the shyness was practically crippling him. I took my clothes off for a living, and I liked bold, confident men—men I liked controlling, cutting down to size. I’d never wanted a man anything like Max, but I’d already fucked him, which I made most of the men I dated wait months for. Max Reilly was shy, but not when he had his dick in me.

No, I didn’t usually like men like Max. But right now I did. And I could have any man I wanted, right?

I reached in my pocket and pulled out my phone. I stepped closer to him, close enough to look up at him. “I’ll give you my number on one condition,” I said.

Now there was wariness behind his careful blank expression, like I was going to make him do a test. “What condition?”

“You use it to ask me out.”

I waited. Most men would be pretty fucking happy with that condition. I turned down guys all the time. All. The. Time.

But Max just looked at me with those dark eyes and said, “No.”

I felt my eyebrows go upward. “No?”

“No,” he said again, and when he saw the look on my face, he elaborated, “That’s not a good idea.”

I’ll be honest, it took me a second to process that. Maybe that makes me seem like a jerk, but I was a blonde stripper with an absolutely perfect body, thank you very much, and this guy was saying no with sort of a regretful tone, like he was letting me down easy. “Why is it not a good idea?” I asked.

I thought maybe he would mumble something, try and get rid of me, but instead he looked at the ceiling for a second, putting his words together. Then he looked back at me and scowled. “Because a date leads to more sex.”

Now my jaw actually dropped open. “You don’t want to have sex with me again?”