Page 16 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

Leo swipes another card against a discreet panel. The door clicks.

One of the two security men pulls the door open and holds it for us.

“Thank you, Charlie,” Leo says as he enters.

“Have a good night, sir,” ‘Charlie’ replies.

When I enter, I give the man a sheepish grin that feels plastered onto my face. My cheeks are flaming becausehello,I’m walking into a billionaire’s penthouse with his security detail watching.

What’s the etiquette here? Tip him? Offer him a stick of gum?

I settle for a mumbled, “Thanks,” because silence feelseven weirder.

He just nods, his expression unreadable.

Oh yeah, I bet he’s thrilled. Just another Friday night, escorting one of Leo’s disposable dates upstairs. Does he keep a tally? Do they have a betting pool downstairs on how long I’ll last? Probably seen it all.

In fact, his face has that permanent ‘I’m paid not to care’ look down pat.

Well, either way, the security detail remains on the landing, watchful and silent, as the door closes behind me with a heavy, expensivethud.

I turn around, and...

Well, shit.

If I wasn’t sure he was a billionaire before, I’m certain of it now. We’re standing in the entryway of what isn’t just a hotel suite, it’s a goddamn palace in the sky. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrap around the massive living area, showcasing a glittering panorama of the Las Vegas Strip that seems to stretch on forever. Minimalist modern furniture, expensive-looking sculptures, a grand piano gleaming in the corner… it’s stunning, extravagant, and completely impersonal. It screams money, but not ‘home.’ The kind of place designed to impress, not live in, likely renting out north of 20k a night.

Right.

My little boutique PR firm suddenly feels very… boutique. Like comparing a lemonade stand to Dom Pérignon. The power imbalance I felt earlier just cranked itself up to eleven.

Leo turns to me, his eyes darker now, the playful amusement replaced by something more intense, more focused. The sexual tension between us crackles. Like literally.

He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t have to. He just steps forward, crowding me against the cool woodof the massive door. His hands frame my face, fingers tangling in my hair.

“Finally,” he breathes, his voice rough.

And then his mouth is on mine.

His kiss is urgent. Desperate. Almost rough. It’s pure possession, a staking of claim that steals the air from my lungs. His tongue plunges into my mouth, demanding a response, and I give it eagerly, meeting his intensity with a sudden surge of reckless heat. My hands clutch at his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing the solid anchor of him in this suddenly overwhelming space.

The kiss goes on and on, frantic and deep, until we’re both gasping. He breaks away only to press fierce, open-mouthed kisses along my jaw, down my neck. My head falls back against the door, exposing my throat, a silent invitation.

“Bedroom,” he growls against my skin, his voice thick.

He doesn’t wait for an answer. His hand finds mine, yanking me away from the door, pulling me stumbling through the cavernous living room towards another set of imposing double doors. He shoulders them open, revealing a bedroom easily the size of my entire apartment. More floor-to-ceiling windows, another king-sized bed that looks big enough to host a small conference, and the same cool, impersonal luxury.

The moment we’re inside, he slams the door shut behind us and spins me around, pressing me back against it. His body pins mine, hard muscle against suddenly yielding flesh. The size difference between us is starkly apparent now, his larger frame engulfing mine. He’s all heat and strength and thatintoxicating, stormy scent mixed with the faint, sharp chemical tang I’d smelled earlier.

The GHB.

Definitely still in his system.

His pupils are dilated, his movements slightly too fast, too jerky.

This isn’t just Leo, the charming rogue. The suspected billionaire. This is Leo under the influence, primal and unfiltered.

A wave of fear, cold and sharp, cuts through the haze of desire.

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