Page 29 of Bottles & Blades

He’s calculating.

He’s stubborn.

A ruthless businessman who’s been in the news enough that evenI—who prefers to live my life in books—know that he’s fair and tough and very,verygood at crushing anyone who crosses him.

Thatreminds me to be on edge.

And approximately one second later, I have the confirmation that reminder is there for a reason.

“You answer my questions or?—”

My stomach sinks.

Threats.

Dammit. I can’t even have one of the fantasies from my books—a billionaire with a heart of gold who wants me and only me—not even for one evening.

“I won’t kiss you.”

My mouth drops open.

“Fuck it,” he mutters, blazing blue eyes on mine. “You answer my questions or don’t. I still have to taste that gorgeous mouth.”

Then his hand on my shoulder shifts, diving into the drying strands of my hair. He tilts my head back and…

His mouth is on mine.

I gasp, and he doesn’t hesitate to taste that burst of air on his tongue, to draw me closer.

He’s strong and hard and tastes like that fabulous wine and?—

He lifts his head. “Buttercup?”

My lids flutter open, body awash in sensation, my lips swollen and needy. “Yeah?” I whisper.

His striking blue eyes search mine. “Baby.”

“Yeah?” I whisper again.

“Have you ever done this before?”

The pleasure, the need, the soft cloud-like feeling surrounding me of being safe and wanted and alive disappears in an instant.

I go ramrod stiff, embarrassment flooding through me. “You should go,” I whisper.

“Buttercup,” he murmurs, brushing the backs of his knuckles over my cheek.

“Go,” I say, making an order of my own.

One he ignores, allowing those knuckles to trace lower, to drift down my throat, my shoulder, the side of my arm, my wrist, my hand.

Then he laces our fingers together, picks up the plate I made him, and draws me to the couch.

“Tell me.”

It’s an order.

And one, for some godawful reason, I can’t ignore.

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