Page 10 of The Billionaire's Ride

She tosses her long, curled locks over her shoulder. “I’m sure you had no trouble finding another woman to ease your pain.”

I chuckle. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that we knew each other for twenty minutes when you asked me to go upstairs with you. You’re obviously not shy.” She’s right about that. “I bet you had another girl in that room another twenty minutes later.”

What she doesn’t realize is I wasn’t in the mood for another woman. I’d seen them all before anyway. Hooked up with a handful even. I knew exactly what I’d be in for, and for some reason, the craving for Kate spoiled my appetite for the rest.

“Are you calling me a womanizer?” I ask, playfully, knowing she is. I round the bed, snapping a photo of her thighs, plump booty, and the silk bow at the top of her thong. If this wasn’t a photo shoot, I could tug on that bow and watch the fabric unravel, revealing more of her. “Look back this way.”

Kate glances over her shoulder, batting her long dark lashes. “I guess I am.”

“You know, deep down, I knew you were never coming back.”

“How?”

“You’re not that kind of girl.” The smooth beats play overhead, filling that tingly space between us. I circle around and get shots from every angle.

“You don’t know what kind of girl I am. And I was going to come back.”

I look at her twisted expression over my camera. “Then why didn’t you?”

“My best friend needed my help at that moment, so I helped her.” Her voice is sweet and honest, and now I know I’m right about her.

I kneel down, snapping a picture of her face. “Beautiful,” I say. “You ready to change positions?”

She blushes. “Okay.”

With a healthy trust account and good genes, women often throw themselves at me with fierce aggression. But Kate’s cute, coy glances are surprisingly more fun. Not to brag, but earning the attention of a beautiful woman is pretty easy for me.

Except Kate isn’t like other women. If I want her, I know she’ll make me work for it. And I never shy away from a challenge. At the same time, I know I may have met my match because she’s too good for me.

“Why don’t you stand up and grab onto the bedpost?”

She rises slowly and climbs off the bed, dragging her stilettos across the floor like she’s strutting up to a pole. Watching her slender fingers wrap around the tall bedpost, I want nothing more than for her to put her hands around my . . . bedpost. “How’s this?”

“Good,” I say, hoping she can’t see my flushed cheeks behind the camera. My temperature rises to a fever pitch. I set my camera down on a table and slide off my leather jacket, briskly rubbing my bicep where my wolf tattoo resides. Attempting tosidetrack my mind with thoughts of polo matches, I take in a few deep breaths,

“You okay?” she asks.

I clear my throat and grab the camera. “Fine.” The top of her lace stocking is folded down just enough to be distracting. “Wait.” I approach her, balancing my camera in one hand.

“What?” Kate steps back against the bed, still gripping the bedpost.

I get down on one knee. My fingertip hovers over the edge of her knee and then trails up to the top of her stocking.

“What are you doing?” Her sun-kissed thigh tenses.

I glance up, watching her chest rise and fall. A digit slips just barely inside her hosiery threshold. “There,” I say, fixing the lace. “Perfect.” My gaze draws up, her nearly see-through thong centimeters from my face. What if I were to take her into my mouth right now and drink up every drop of her? What would the good girl do then?

“Drew?” she says. A sure sign I’ve lingered too long.

I tilt my chin, admiring her silky skin from this angle. “One more thing.” I rise up, and my fingertips graze her soft thigh for a brief moment.

Standing tall next to her, I watch her pouty, pink lip part as my hand barely touches her shoulder. Kate’s eyes meet mine, and she takes in a slow, airy breath, heat radiating from her entire body. I flash her my hungry-eyed gaze and bite my lower lip, making a slight sucking noise. Wedging my finger beneath her thin bra strap, I pull it over the edge of her shoulder and let go, watching it dangle against her arm. “Now, it’s perfect.”

I look into her eyes once more, then step away. When I turn back, she’s a little breathless but absolutely stunning. Photo after photo, the shutter clicks. There are no words between us. Kate leans into the post, tilting her head, and exposing her neck.Through the lens, I can see something’s changed. She gazes at me with an intense fire in her eyes.

I want to drop my camera to the floor, strip off my clothes, and play with her body like it’s my own amusement park—sliding my tongue up and over, in and out. After all, we’re alone with a bed. But I can’t. This is business, not pleasure.

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