Page 84 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

A stark contrast to Vegas... the rough, demanding possession fueled by GHB.

This is… sober Leo.

Conscious Leo.

Kissingme.

Sabrina Taylor.

Mother of his child.

The Leo I thought would never want me.

All the carefully constructed professional boundaries, the warnings I’ve been giving myself, the lectures about history repeating... they fizzle and die.

His mouth explores mine, a slow dance that sends sparks down to my toes, bypassing every logical checkpoint along the way.

He tastes like whiskey and... Leo. His cologne fills my senses. Black tea, fig, ozone.

My hand, the one I hesitantly placed on his chest, feels the frantic hammering of his heart beneath his shirt.

It matches my own frantic pulse beat for beat.

Okay, Sabrina. Potential PR implications of kissing the billionaire client whose reputation you’re supposed to be rehabilitating? Not good.

Risk of emotional fallout? Stratospheric.

Probability of repeating your mother’s history? Alarmingly non-zero.

But then his tongue traces my lower lip in a silent request for entry, and my analytical brain dissolves.

I open for him, a soft sigh escaping my lips, my fingers curling instinctively into the fabric of his shirt. He groans, and the kiss deepens, shifting from tentative exploration to something hungry. Familiar.

Thispart feels like Vegas. The raw need. The intensity that bypasses thought and goes straight for the gut.

His other hand comes up, framing my face, his thumb stroking my cheekbone with surprising tenderness before tangling in my hair and tilting my head back slightly.

He controls the kiss now, deepening it further, staking a claim. And god help me, I let him.

I meet his intensity, kissing him back with a desperation that scares me, a longing I’ve kept locked down for twenty long, lonely months.

This is insane. I’m kissing Leo Maxwell in his sky palace while our daughter sleeps in the next room. The daughter conceived during a night like this that he doesn’t remember.

A nightIremember with terrifying clarity, including the part where I felt completely out of my depth and devastatingly attracted to him.

I can’t believe I’m kissing him. I can’t believe this is real. But it is. It really is.

I thought this night would never come again.

He pulls back, only to press hot, open-mouthed kisses along my jawline, down the curve of my neck. My head falls back against the sofa cushions, exposing my throat to him. I feel goosebumps erupt.

“Sabrina,” he breathes against my skin, his voice rough with need. It’s the voice from Vegas, the one that’s haunted my dreams.

“Leo,” I whisper back.

My internal warning system is telling me to stop, but my body won’t listen. It remembers the intensity, the pleasure, the way he rocked my world...

He pulls back slightly, just enough to look at me. His green eyes are dark, his pupils dilated, blazing with an intensity that’s both terrifying and exhilarating. He’s breathing heavily.

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