Page 48 of Billionaire Bachelor
“What time should I be ready? And what kind of dress code are we looking at?”
“Can you be ready by eight? And cocktail attire.”
“That works.” I unzip my pants, sliding them down my legs.
“Did I just hear a zipper? What are you doing right now?”
My panties follow. “Getting naked. I’m about to hop in the shower.”
A FaceTime notification instantly pops up, making my lips twitch.
“Accept the video request, Rosie,” Logan demands, making my toes curl.
“No can do,” I say cheekily, despite my vagina’s protest. “I have a hot date to get ready for. Gotta-go-byyeeeee!”
I end the call, laughing as I cut Logan off mid-curse. Was that a little mean? Maybe. Am I looking forward to the retribution I know he’ll deliver?
Hell, yes.
I toldLogan I’d meet him in the lobby of my building, so fifteen minutes before he’s scheduled to arrive, I open my apartment door, only to jump when I see him right there, propped against the opposite wall, waiting for me.
He gives me an infuriatingly sexy smirk. “Well, at least you didn’t threaten to karate-chop my balls off this time.”
I roll my eyes, closing the door behind me. “The man thinks he’s a comedian,” I mutter.
Logan chuckles, but when I look up, the hunger in his eyes robs me of breath. “Christ, Pip. Look at you.” His voice is deeper now. Rougher. “You trying to kill me tonight?”
His golden-green gaze blazes a slow path over me, starting at my Ruby Woo red lips, drifting to my bare shoulders, then lingering for a moment over my breasts. His teeth graze his knuckles, like he’s physically restraining himself, as my nipples pebble, making it painfully obvious I’m not wearing a bra.
Once he sees the low back of the dress, he’ll understand why.
His gazeslides down my bare legs, tracing every inch until it lands on mybright red heels, then slowly makes its wayback up. With the unseasonably warm weather, I figured it was the perfect excuse to wear my favorite mini.Judging by the way Logan looks one strong breeze away from combustion, I’d say I made the right call.
A little edging never hurt anyone, right?
I take a moment for my own perusal, and heat floods through me, pooling low in my stomach. Logan is a thirst trap on any given day, but this is something else entirely. His dusty lavender button-up clings in all the right places, the top two buttons undone just enough to tease at the sculpted ridges of his chest. The sleeves are rolled up, exposing the dark, intricate designs winding over his forearms, each line and shadow adding to the quiet confidence he wears like a second skin. A flat silver chain glints on his wrist, subtle yet intentional, in direct contrast to the bold edges of his ink.
His black slacks are tailored to perfection, hugging his strong thighs and long legs in a way that should be criminal. They end in polished black boots, sleek and expensive, with just the slightest scuff marks, probably from riding his motorcycle. The whole look is sophisticated and sexy, but with an edge. It’s so quintessentially Logan that it causes a fluttering sensation deep in my belly.
Looks like I’m not the only one who’ll be hanging from a cliff all night.
“Rosie, if you keep looking at me like that, we’re never leaving your apartment.”
I bite my lip as our eyes meet, silently telling him I’d be more than okay with that.
He groans, then tugs on my hand. “C’mon, woman. I’m taking you on a proper date. Lock the door.”
“Party pooper,” I say, sticking my tongue out as I hit the lock button on the keypad.
We take the crowded elevator down to the street level, and as we all spill out, Logan laces our fingers together, his grip warm and steady as he leads me outside.
I expect us to head toward his Range Rover parked along the street, but instead, he veers deeper into the neighborhood.
“We’re hoofing it?” I ask.
“Yup.”
I glance down at my strappy sandals and cringe. “But…”
