Money Man (King Maker 1)

He cut my blathering short and said, “In my business, five minutes is a lifetime.”

Feeling off balance and more unnerved than ever in the presence of this man, I spoke as if I were a petulant child, “And what is it that you do?”

“Rule the world,” he said, with a hint of amusement.

Before I could call him on his arrogance, a team of waiters arrived with our first course. The plate before me smelled heavenly and my stomach churned in anticipation, reminding me of my meager lunch.

He took his first bite, and his expression dared me to say something instead of eating. But when that bite touched his lips, I swore his expression was orgasmic and I had to taste the food to see if it was as good as it looked.

It was divine, and I ate, unable to decide if I’d ever had something so good. It was like that commercial—finger-licking good. And I wanted to lick mine and then his. Instead, we finished our first course without any more conversation, but a whole lot of eye fucking, as Lizzy would say.

After the plates had been removed and the wait staff gone, he said, “So…tell me,” he started, his blazing eyes boring into mine. I expected him to say something suggestive or even lewd the way his eyes left my face for a second to glance down to my cleavage before returning. “What do you do?”

Oh, I should have expected that. I mean, it was the obvious question, given I’d asked him first. But the way he pinned me with his gaze told a completely different story. In fact, I found myself tongue-tied, unable to speak the easy answer. My eyes drifted to his mouth and took in the most perfect, kissable lips I’d ever seen.

“Bailey,” he said. And I watched his mouth form my name.

Blinking, I realized what I was doing. I was playing right into this man’s hands. And oh, what magical hands he had. Our encounter had proven that. Moments too late to hide my attraction, I spoke. “I’m an accountant.” I couldn’t tell him I was an auditor. Most people automatically thought IRS. And hell, working for that agency was just as bad as being called a lawyer in some circles.

“Mmm.” The noise he made shot directly to my center. All of a sudden, I felt heat course over my body in a rolling wave. I wanted to fan myself. But again, that would make it all too clear that he was getting to me.

“What about you? You weren’t specific before,” I asked quickly, before I made a fool of myself. This man knew what effect he had on women—the smirk on his face said as much.

He picked up his wine glass, swirling the liquid around and hypnotizing me in the process. “I run a business,” he said, sounding reluctant, as if he didn’t want to tell me. He watched me like he was expecting some sort of reaction before placing the glass to his lips. And I found myself thinking about kissing him.

“What kind?” I probed, trying to steer this conversation far away from sex and my mind away from his inviting mouth. The way he continued to stare at me only made me more curious.

“A bit of this and a bit of that,” he said, still watching me. I fidgeted in my seat. His eyes were like minefields, and I felt like I’d explode any minute.

Thankfully, the second course arrived, and all those thoughts were forgotten. The flavors of the food erupted in my mouth. I couldn’t help myself—I moaned slightly and let my tongue dance over my lips to get at every last drop before I impatiently shoved more food into my mouth and embarrassed myself further. Take it slow. My parents had taught me better table manners.

When we finished the food in front of us, he spoke as if he’d plucked the thought from my brain. “If you lick your lips one more time, I will take you on this table instead of waiting until I get you to a bed.”

He couldn’t have timed his statement any better. Protest was again stifled by the appearance of the busboys, who removed our empty plates from the table. It was as if they had cameras watching us and were just waiting for our silverware to be put down. Looking up, I searched for tiny cameras until they left, after using what looked like a knife of some sort to gather any wayward crumbs off the white tablecloth.

When the well-choreographed team left, I spoke the first words that came to mind. “And what makes you think I’ll be going home with you?”

He arched a brow, and his green eyes bore into mine. “I never said home.”

I bit back a snarky retort. The ego this man had. I wasn’t good enough to take home?