Page 99 of The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée

“You’re not looking hard enough.”

“But, Rex, you have so much,” I say. “Don’t you feel like you’ve earned a vacation like all the rest of these people?”

“The people on this boat came up rich and connected, with safety nets under them. They take vacations. They don’t earn them,” he says. “Except maybe Gail. Maybe even Marvin in his way. And you earned one.” He looks up over his sunglasses. “Though I might have to work you a little harder before I let you off.”

I shudder down to my toes. “But surely you earned a vacation. I’ve seen you work like crazy for two years.”

“Not happening.” There’s an edge to his voice that I haven’t heard before.

“Why not?” Why is he so driven? I hate that he might work himself to death like Gail’s late husband.

He studies my face, pondering the question. Or maybe pondering how much to tell me. “When you’re not a Driscoll or a Vanderbilt or whatever, you have to fight a lot harder to keep what you won. When you started from where normal people start, you can’t ever let go of the reins. You can’t stop for a minute until you’re the one controlling the game.”

I watch the blue horizon, ratcheting up my assessment of how intense of a control freak this guy actually is. “Dude, as a billionaire you pretty much control everything already.”

“Maybe if I can get Gail’s accounts—onceI get her accounts—I’ll be in control of the market. In control of everything.”

“Will you relax, then?” I ask, thinking about Clark’s comments on how Rex is always moving the goalposts. “What good is success if you never get to relax and have fun?”

“Being awesome at business is fun. Winning is fun.”

I reach over across the small space that separates our loungers and slide my finger over his whiskery cheek. It’s sad that he doesn’t feel like he can relax. “Why can’t you take a vacation?”

“It’s not me,” he says.

“Why not?”

“You ask too many questions.”

I press a finger to his lips. “You keep too many secrets.” He wraps his meaty hand around my wrist and kisses the tip of my finger, eyes fixed on mine.

“Do you think you’re gonna distract me?” I rasp.

“Yes.” He kisses another finger.

“Because I’m stupid with an empty mind?”

“Quite the opposite.” He kisses my next finger. “I think you always know what you’re doing.” Another finger. “I think there’s always a lot going on in your mind.” Pinky kiss. “And some of it’s very dirty.”

I yank away my hand. He’s trying to change the subject. “Come on, be serious. You can never take a break?”

He raises his eyebrows, as if the answer is obvious, but I don’t think it is. I think there’s more, just like there’s always been more to Rex. I remind myself this is just vacation sex—I can’t get sucked in by him any more than I already am, but I can’t help my curiosity.

“Your parents owned a bar. Didn’t I read that somewhere?”

He reaches out and takes a strand of my hair between two fingers. This is one of his signature fake fiancé moves—winding a curl up around one finger, winding and winding. It’s not right that he should have such a powerful effect on me. Around and around he winds the curl.

“I think you’re trying to distract me,” I say. “It won’t work.”

He keeps going, a hundred percent of his sexy gray gaze fixed on me. Slowly he begins to tug. Voice like velvety gravel, he asks, “What happens when I really pull your hair?”

“Uhh,” I say, because it turns out that the strand of hair is basically a leash for my pussy. Somehow I get the wherewithal to bat away his hand, making him unwind his finger from my curl. “I’m asking for real.”

“Yes, they owned a bar. We lived in the back of it. The back room.”

“Just a room? For a family of three?”

“There was a loft.”

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