The Billionaire Book Club

“I like it.” His caramel eyes stare down at me with the kind of intensity that has goose bumps rolling up my arms. “The name and the reason for it.”

Before I can open up my lips to add a very important disclaimer, he beats me to it. “And consider your secret safe with me. In my vault. Under lock and key. Never to be told to anyone else.”

“Promise?”

“Ruby, I swear.”

For some crazy reason, I don’t doubt his words. I actually believe him.

He smiles down at me, and there’s something in it—something personal and intimate—that gives me pause. Something that makes my shoulders tense and my back go ramrod straight. Something that has spurred one too many questions inside my head, and I can no longer avoid it.

I squint up at him and tilt my head to the side. “What exactly is going on here, Cap? The whole makeover, the party…” I nod at our bodies. “The dancing.”

“Do we really have to call it something specific?” He avoids cleverly. “Can’t we just enjoy it for what it is?”

Unfortunately for him, I’ve heard that kind of line before, from a guy I met in undergrad, and I’m not all too fond of the blasé sentiment. “God. What is it with men and wanting to avoid labels?” I lower my voice to the timbre of a man and continue, “We don’t need labels, babe. What we have can’t be labeled.” I snort and roll my eyes. “This is about our connection. Not our relationship status,” I mock further.

“Are you saying we’re in a relationship?” Cap says excitedly—playfully—pulling my body into his.

I shake my head and slap his arm. “Cap, I’m serious!”

“I can tell, doll. In fact, I can tell you’re serious most of the time.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Nothing,” he says seriously. “I’m just trying to enjoy the moment with you. And I wish you would do the same.”

Enjoy the moment. Can I do that?

“I-I…” I stammer a minute before putting my thoughts into vulnerable words I’m not completely sure I don’t want to take back. “I don’t know if I can.”

His bright eyes hold mine, a soft smile cresting just one corner of his mouth. It’s human and understanding and completely unexpected from Caplin Hawkins.

He is tough and bold and bright in every way possible.

But in this moment, here on the dance floor with me…he’s tender.

“Just try,” he says gently, sweeping a warm hand along my hip, bringing it up and rubbing the backs of his knuckles along my cheek.

I’m not sure where the impulse comes from, or how it happens, but there isn’t even a question about my reaction—I lean into his touch.

“Strangers in the Night” comes to a close, but neither of us pulls away.

We stay there, deep in each other’s eyes and arms, swaying to the next song as it starts up.

I don’t recognize it immediately, but as the band transitions from the intro into the real meat of the music, the irony couldn’t be any clearer.

Ella Fitzgerald’s “Aren’t You Kind of Glad We Did?” confirms my decision to live in the moment.

If I don’t use what I have when the opportunity is presented, will I ever really use it at all?

My heart picks up speed as Cap’s smile grows. Whether it’s pure intuition or my body language or some type of psychic gift, he can see the change in me. I’m sure of it.

Our bodies mold to each other as he spins me quickly to a new spot on the dance floor, and the way it makes my stomach feel puts a smile on my face.

His smile this close up is a whole new animal—more powerful and influential and, perhaps, unstoppable.

I could melt into the feel of it, get lost in the complexities—spend my life trying to crack its code.

I can feel the heat of his breath on my lips, and I’m not ashamed to say I run my tongue along them in the hope I can taste it.

Whiskey flares as Cap’s eyes lock on to the movement, and it’s all I can do to stop a full-body chill from overwhelming my frame.

One second bleeds into the next, and time slows down. I can see every minute movement as Cap’s perfectly plush mouth comes toward mine—can feel every breath exchanged between us—and I do nothing to stop it.

Live in the moment, take things as they come, stop cockblocking my own goddamn life. I’m determined to have this moment, no matter the consequences.

My heart thunders in my chest, a wild animal contained in a cage of flesh and bone and purpose. It can’t run from me—it can’t run from this.

Fingertips flex into the thin fabric at my hips, and I swear I nearly faint as Cap’s lips hover just above mine.

My eyelids fall in a languid blink, a fraction of a second expanded into a faux minute of time. A lip grazes mine, just a hint of contact with the potency of a million pounds of pressure.