Page 3 of The Billionaire's Ride

Garret returns carrying a pair of classic martinis and hands me one.

“What? No cranberry juice?” I ask, frowning at the glass.

“Sorry, Carrie Bradshaw. They’re only serving clear liquid.”

“Seriously?” I glance around the room, peering right through every stemmed and short glass.

“We wouldn’t want to stain the white sofa or the white rug or the white armchair or anything else, now would we?” He leans his head side to side, mocking the rule.

Garret’s not much for rules, but I am. I totally get why she would want to protect her upholstered, white antique bench from an appalling red wine stain. I shrug and sip my dirty martini. Mmm, it may not be a cosmo, but it’s a damn good cocktail. I let out a long exhale, feeling my body relax and loosen. Perhaps I should grab a little snack before the alcohol completely goes to my head.

Garret and I stand quietly watching waify models strut in backless dresses and stylish men swagger in tightly tailored suits. One guy even sports a glistening diamond tarantula brooch on his lapel. They all seem to be glancing in the same general direction. When I turn toward whatever’s so captivating, I spy something less couture but just as appealing. Or should I say, someone . . .

The guy looks less like he stepped off the catwalk and more like he walked off the set ofRebel Without A Cause, the twenty-first-century remake. Definitely has that James Dean, bad boy thing going, with his black leather moto jacket, a hint of a beard, and dark hair just long enough to curl around the back of his ears.

He leans against the bar, sipping from a short glass of some clear liquor. And just as my nipples are settling, his whiskey-colored eyes glance my way, and they’re hard again. I want to turn away, pretend that I’m not totally eye-fondling him from afar like everyone else in the room. But it’s as if he’s caught me in a trance. I’m breathless and can’t escape until he lets me go.

For the first time in months, I no longer feel invisible.

The mystery man lifts his glass, sending me a nod. I return the gesture. His mouth draws up in a suggestive smile whilethose brown eyes penetrate me more deeply. And for a moment, I imagine what it might feel like if he . . .

Garret gasps, pointing across the room. “Oh, my God, is that Gigi Hadid?”

I snap out of it and force myself to follow Garret’s gaze. I lift up on my toes, peering through the crowd. With my heels, I’m barely five-seven. Then I spot the woman he’s eye-stalking. “No, that’s not her.”

“Damn!” He snaps his fingers.

I turn back toward the bar, but my modern James Dean has disappeared. Where did he go? Or am I so tired that I made him up?

Then, a strong hand slips right above my hip as my dress tightens around my bust.

Zip!

“Better?” A deep British bass vibrates next to my ear.

Chapter Two

KATE

I whip around with a gasp,my martini swishing from my glass, over the rim, and spilling down onto the stranger’s black jeans.Oh. My. God.

“I’m so sorry!” I say, dropping to my knees and pulling a silk handkerchief from my clutch. He’s soaked from his zipper to his muscular thigh. Awkwardly, I dab my hankie against his pants.

“It’s all right,” the guy says.

“No, I’m so embarrassed.” I shake my head, keeping up the cleaning routine until I realize that I am blotting more than just his wet jeans with my hankie.

And right smack in front of the London glitterati too.

A prickling heat crawls up my cheeks, probably turning fifty shades pinker than my dress. His dark denim bulges more, growing stiff. If I keep it up any longer, he’ll bust out of his zipper too. I freeze for a moment, then ball up the damp silk in my hand and jump to my feet, locking eyes with my leather jacket-wearing James Dean wannabe. I can’t think of a more embarrassing way to meet the hottest guy at the party. Maybe the hottest in all of London. Or in the world.

Will he think I’m crazy if I run out of the room screaming and flailing my arms in the air?

“I amsosorry,” I say.

He brushes his pants with a stiff hand. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have startled you like that, but your dress looked like it was about to hit the floor.”

I gaze at his curled upper lip. Five minutes with his sexy mouth and my dress will absolutely hit the floor.

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