Page 65 of The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée

Her pupils darken.

“Do you have actual information on the review, or are you just jerking me around?”

She bites her lip, looking witchy. I’m getting addicted to provoking her. I’m getting addicted to her reactions.

I lean in close enough that I can feel her body heat; it’s as if I feel her on my skin, through my clothes.

She releases her lip, and it glistens plump and rosy. I can’t tear my eyes from it. I want to taste it. I want to press my palms to her cheeks and take that little mouth for my own.

How is she so infuriating? Why do I let her drive me crazy like this?

“You so want to know,” she says.

“Then tell me.”

“I will.” She slides downward out of the chair, limbo-style, and gracefully twirls out of the cage of my arms, ending up behind me. “Put on your bathing suit and meet me in the hot tub.” She beelines to her room and closes the door.

She’s bartering with me now? That’s not how it works. I call the shots with women, not the other way around. Calling the shots is one of the privileges of having climbed as far up the food chain as I have.

But here I am—with a woman I specifically chose for her repellent qualities trying to call the shots.

The worst part of it is that Iwantto go up there and hear whatever thing she has to say.

The zip of a suitcase sounds out from her room.

I should blow it off—that would teach her. If they mentioned the review in front of her, there’s no way it was anything important.

Except that every bit of information is important. I made my fortune by taking scraps of information that other people passed over and putting them together in a way that lets me see around corners.

I make cool, emotionless decisions, and then I execute on them.

I need to know what she thinks she knows.

And I can’t have her parading around deck in a sexy suit without me.

I throw down my pen and storm into my room and try to find my suit. My assistant said he packed me one just in case. I riffle through, unsure where to look or even what color the suit would be. I stiffen at the sound of the outer door closing. She left without me?

I finally find the thing and change. I put on a short-sleeved shirt and head to the end of our level. On the deck below, people are lounging in cabanas and sitting at the bar. Somebody waves, and I wave back, walking with purposeful strides toward the steps that lead to the uppermost deck where the hot tub is.

I grab the rail and start banging up, up one level and then the next, arriving on the top deck.

The top deck is smaller than the other decks, like a platform suspended some six stories above the ocean, all potted palms and posh loungers and the feeling of being on top of the world.

Stretching out from the shadow of the towering structure that holds the ship’s communication and navigation array high in the sky is a giant hot tub. Tabitha is on one side of it, grinning. I’m irritated to note that she’s not alone; two guys are sitting across from her—drooling over her, no doubt. Neither are Marvin. Luckily.

Still, how are we supposed to talk with two guys sitting there?

I reach the edge. Tabitha smiles up at me, droplets of water glistening like diamonds on her smooth shoulders.

There’s no way they aren’t drooling over her. I give the guys a hard look. AnI-see-youlook.

“You made it,” she says.

“How could I not?” I grit out, with a look that says,you’ll pay for this.

Her grin is wide and devilish, and it goes straight to my cock.

I sit down on the edge, sink my calves into the hot, bubbling water, and take a deep breath. It does feel nice.

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