The Billionaire's Island Bride (South Shore Billionaires 3)

He flicked a forearm out, rolled back his shirt sleeve. He did the same on the other side. She watched, stuck on the fact that he’d taken off his suit jacket. Also, on his forearms. His forearms. They were muscular, with lines of veins that looked as if they were pulsing. They made her want to trace them with her fingertips, then grip that swelling just before his elbow to feel the muscle there. She wanted to—

Nothing. She wanted to nothing.

What did Jameson’s forearms look like? Did it matter? The marriage he and her father had proposed was purely business. Purely name. Which made what Micah had done sting sharper. She was there for her name, too. Not for his admittedly good-looking forearms.

Wait—Micah? When had she started calling him Micah?

‘I have to admit, there was a lot of speculation, even in that.’

Okay, he was speaking again. Yes, right. She needed to reply. That was how conversations worked. If she remembered correctly, and honestly, she wasn’t sure she did.

‘Pop culture articles are speculative by nature. Unless you have a reliable source, but that changes things. The tone of the article. It shifts the attention. You have people focusing more on who the source could be as opposed to the content. Generally, I use sources for articles that are already more fact than opinion. Which, I guess, is the difference between having my piece in the entertainment section of the print

ed paper versus only the digital edition.’

The silence that followed her answer alerted her to how much she’d said. She’d surprised them both with it, but she refused to feel embarrassed. She knew what she was doing. Writing was not only her job, but her passion. She read articles and books on writing, did online courses, followed noted journalists on social media. All of this was over and above her responsibilities at the newspaper.

She was capable. It was part of why Micah Williams asking for her annoyed her. He shouldn’t have had to ask; she should have been given this. She deserved it.

‘This is exactly why I thought you’d do well on this article,’ Micah said. ‘There was something about your work that felt intentional. Even the fluff pieces, which I enjoyed immensely.’

‘How could you not?’ she countered. ‘Everyone knows how much people enjoy fluff.’

He laughed. It was surprising and arousing. At that point, Elena should have known she was already in trouble. Then he said, ‘Ms John, you’ll quickly discover that my tastes aren’t similar to most people’s.’ There was a slight pause. ‘I’m going to enjoy showing you that.’

The fact that she wanted him to show her? That she thought she would enjoy it? Oh, yeah. Trouble.

* * *

Micah Williams hadn’t expected the John heiress to be so...

Interesting.

The word seemed woefully inadequate to describe the woman sitting opposite him. As a result, he watched her more than was necessary. Her expressions were animated, her tone dry and sharp in equal measure, and she was surprisingly candid. Surprisingly attractive, too.

Not her appearance. He’d seen that in pictures. The wild, curly hair. The gloss of her brown skin and the dusting of freckles on only her left cheek, though that detail hadn’t been clear in the pictures. He noted it now because it had a certain charm. As did the way her mouth was painted bright red. Her lips were full, plump, and he’d experienced plenty of people in his lifetime who would have been embarrassed by that abundance. Ms John seemed to have embraced it.

That peek into her personality was really the most attractive thing about her.

She embraced plenty of things, it seemed. The admittedly extra nature of how he’d brought her to his plane—not that he’d expected her to point it out. The fact that he knew who she was. That he’d requested her for the article. Micah hadn’t expected it to be easy to get Elena on his side, but now he thought her honesty might aid him. Maybe that was why he offered her such honesty in return.

Either that, or those red lips. And that luscious body, tall and curved, clad in a red pants suit visible despite her coat. The white T-shirt she wore beneath it clung to ample breasts. And her heels, white as well, highlighted the most beautiful set of ankles he’d seen in his life.

He blinked. Ankles? Since when had he noticed a woman’s ankles? Of all the things he’d been attracted to, ankles had never appeared on the list. His eyes lowered to her legs. She’d crossed them.

So maybe he simply hadn’t seen the right pair of ankles.

Interesting. Irrelevant, but interesting.

‘Do you know, if you’d started our conversation with the fact that you’ve read my work, things would have been a lot less contentious?’

‘Contentious?’ he repeated. ‘I don’t know what you mean, Ms John.’

‘Elena, please.’ There was a slight pause. She hesitated. Undid her seat belt and stood, offering him a hand. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t introduce myself properly. I am Elena.’

She didn’t say her surname. He stored it into the vault of information he had about her, undid his own seat belt, and stood.

‘Micah.’