Page 19 of The Billionaire’s Fake Fiancée
I'd stalked into the shower, and when I'd emerged wrapped in a long bathrobe, he'd been on the phone, his back to the room, looking out the window, speaking to someone in a low voice.
Refusing to speculate who he was speaking to, I'd taken my gown and my cosmetics, and walked off into the other room to dress.
Now I turn to see myself fully in the mirror.
The green gown clings to my curves. When I move, the deep slit up one side parts enough to show a flash of my thigh. I can't get over how the dress dips in front, low enough to plunge almost to my navel. I'm not a prude, but jeans or formal trousers and a shirt are more my daily uniform.
I'm supposed to be alluring enough for a moneyed player, a cut throat investor like Jace, to fall for me.
I'd succeeded.
I look like... sex
Baring my teeth at my reflection, I stalk away from the mirror and pick up my small evening bag. Before I lose my nerve, I flounce out of the little room. My three-inch-high heels catch in the carpet, and I stumble.
Swearing aloud, I take a deep breath, then steady myself before walking across to the master bedroom. I fling open the door only to find the room is empty.
What the—? Where is he? So, I am late. Only by half an hour.
Turning away, I walk toward the kitchen and find a note propped up on the breakfast nook.
* * *
Downstairs, at the bar
* * *
It's unsigned.
For some reason, I'm angry he didn't wait for me. It's difficult enough being here, doing this. The least he could have done was walk me down.
Some moral support please?
Tearing it into tiny pieces, I drop it on the floor, then sweep out of the room.
When I reach the bar, it’s empty.
Comfortable leather chairs are scattered around. I walk toward the sofa in front of a lit fireplace. I’m about to seat myself, when a draft from the half-open French doors makes me shiver.
I walk to the door and am about to shut it, when I spot Jace, his back turned to me. I lean out, trying to see who he is speaking to.
As I look on, Jace takes a last puff before stubbing out his cigarette. He smokes?
Except for what I've learnt from the Internet, I don't know much about him. Once again, the un-realness of my being here strikes me, and I shove at it.
Then the man opposite Jace, steps forward and comes into view. He's slimmer than Jace and ... he's beautiful.
Dark blond hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, with wisps escaping around his lean face. His skin is lighter than Jace's burnished brown, a pale olive color hinting at exotic undertones.
His startling violet eyes taper at the side. His cheekbones jut out, and a muscle twitches below one of them.
Jace turns as if to leave, and the other man reaches out, gripping his sleeve. He takes another step forward,moving close enough for his body to brush Jace. The other man says something, a frown marring that perfect forehead. He leans in even more and even at this distance I can see that this man feels a lot for Jace. That he wants to pull Jace close into his embrace.
It's as if he's already afraid of how Jace is going to react and yet he can't stop himself. As if he'll do anything for even a second more together.
Jace hesitates, then turning back, brings both arms around the man, hugging him close.
Feeling as if I am intruding, I move back toward the fire. I wrap my arms around my waist as a delayed chill from standing in the cool air outside sets in. A shiver runs down my back. I'm disturbed, and I'm not sure why.
