One Night with a Billionaire

“Exactly how much wine did I freaking drink?” She didn’t remember anything beyond fondue, which was fun to dip food in but not so great for soaking up copious amounts of alcohol.

He rubbed his head, which only caused his hair to stick up even further. It might have been gorgeously adorable if she hadn’t been so panicked. “You liked the wine so much we ordered a second bottle.” His lips twitched with amusement. “You insisted, actually.”

Oh God. “Why did you let me insist?”

His mouth curled into one of those panty-melting smiles. “Because I can’t resist when you ask for anything.”

She stared down at the vivid ring on her finger. “Did I . . . did I ask for this?”

“If I recall—and my memory is pretty hazy, too—we passed by a jewelry store, and I suggested it, and then you threw your arms around my neck and started kissing me.” He was grinning now, the bastard. “Do you like the ring? We thought it matched your hair. Rubies and yellow diamonds.”

So those weren’t fakes. They were expensive and real. “And the band?” she asked faintly.

“Platinum.” He held up his hand. “Mine, too.”

“I bent it,” she told him, moving toward the bed. Her voice sounded as weak and tremulous as she felt. “Look at the back of the ring. I bent it.”

He patted the bed and because her knees probably wouldn’t hold out much longer, she went and sat next to him, tugging her sheet-dress close as she showed him her hand.

“It won’t come off,” she said, and had to sniff to hold back tears. She didn’t want to cry in front of him, but her stupid brain wasn’t listening all that well. “I thought platinum was supposed to be a hard metal.”

“Shh,” he said, taking her hand in his. “Let me look at it.”

Kylie sniffed quietly as he examined her hand, pulling her fingers apart and gazing at the ornate band. He was taking this well, all things considered.

Cade shook his head. “Look at your poor fingers,” he murmured, and leaned in to kiss one. “You’ve rubbed them raw, Kylie.”

“But the band—”

“Will stay put for a bit longer,” he murmured. He looked up at her with hooded eyes and kissed the tip of her finger again. “I can’t say I’m sad to see you still in my bed this morning.”

His mouth on her fingers was making her shiver. God, this was such a bad idea. She really should pull away.

He kissed her palm.

Any moment now, she was going to pull away.

His tongue flicked over the soft center of her palm.

Any moment.

But then he nipped at the fleshy part of her hand and she had to bite back a moan. “Can you please concentrate?” She sounded out of breath and incredibly horny . . . which she was. But now wasn’t the time. “We need to figure out what we’re going to do.”

“Do?” He arched an eyebrow at her and kept nibbling at her sensitive hand.

“About these rings. About us.”

“Well, I know what I’d like to do.”

She braced herself. “What’s that?”

He nipped again, sending a shiver through her body. “Pull that sheet off of those plump breasts and get my mouth on them again. Lick you between your legs for hours until you’re quivering and begging me to fuck you again. Push my cock so deep inside you that when you come, I feel every bit of your body tensing around mine.” He flicked his tongue over her palm. “Again.”

Her nipples responded by tightening into traitorous little buds.

“But . . . marriage—”

“Married people have great sex, or so I am told.” He kissed the soft flesh at the inside of her wrist and began to move up her arm.

“But we’re not supposed to be married!” Why was he not listening to her? Didn’t he care? This was the worst possible thing that could have happened to them. To him for sure. The last thing he needed was to be saddled with a fat, insecure, broke makeup artist. She yanked her arm out of his grip as the implications of everything began to roll through her mind. “Oh God. Did we sign a prenup last night?”

“I’m pretty sure both of us were too drunk to sign anything,” he said with a chuckle. He slid closer to her on the bed and brushed a lock of her hair off her shoulder, then leaned in and kissed her skin. “But don’t worry, I won’t go after your money.”

Was he trying to be funny? She couldn’t be funny right now. Not when he was kissing her and her nipples were aching with the need to be teased and her sex was aching with a memory that Kylie’s brain didn’t have. Not when her head was pounding and her conscience was screaming for her to get out of bed right now, right now.