Wilder

My fingers found the warm skin of his biceps, and before I could find the words I wanted to say, I surged on my toes, pressing my mouth to his and kissing him. Our lips clung, the simple pressure lasting far longer than I meant it to.

I hadn’t meant for it to happen at all. Not really.

Oh God. I kissed Paxton. I’m kissing Paxton.

But then I realized he wasn’t kissing me back.

I broke the contact, that pressure in my chest turning nearly sour, my heart pounding not in exhilaration but embarrassment.

“Leah,” he leaned down and whispered against my lips, the sound equal parts discovery and plea. Then he kissed me. His mouth moved gently over mine, his hands cradling my face as if I was something precious and rare, each new caress stripping away another hardened layer of my soul. He didn’t press deeper, even though I was ready to beg him to, just gave me that soft kiss that lingered, made me burn for more.

His tongue caressed my lower lip, and I leaned in to him. It was perfect. He was perfect.

Then he suddenly stopped, stepping back like I’d burned him, his chest heaving.

“Paxton?” I asked, my voice shaking from everything I’d risked, everything I’d stupidly thought I could have.

He met my eyes, and the desire I saw there soothed the raw edges of my nerves. He licked his lips, not in nervousness this time, but as if he could still taste me, and I seriously debated attacking him a second time.

With the simple touch of his lips, he’d awoken something in me I’d thought long dead, and I wanted more.

He shook his head, as if he knew what I was thinking, and that’s when I heard them running toward us, their footsteps heavy in the sand.

“We got some amazing shots!” Bobby said, his breath even where his overweight cameraman was damn near hyperventilating.

“Good,” Paxton said, his voice rough but his touch light as he unbuckled the snaps on my harness so I could step out. How could he function perfectly when I could barely breathe?

“How was your ride?” Bobby asked me, but putting two words together proved impossible.

“Enlightening,” Paxton answered, sparing me.

“What do you think, Leah? You going to do it again?”

I locked eyes with Paxton, and he raised an eyebrow, both of us sensing a second meaning to that question. “I’m not sure.”

A corner of his mouth tilted up into an incredibly sexy smirk. “Yeah, you are. I’m sure enough for the both of us.”

Before I could respond, Paxton looked over my shoulder and swore under his breath.

“What?” I asked, turning to see what upset him.

Standing about fifteen feet away in a well-tailored suit was a man who might have been a clean-cut version of Paxton if he’d had any spark of life in his judgmental eyes. I felt like I was standing there naked or something else equally exposing.

“Paxton. If I could maybe have some of your time?” the man asked, his voice the same deep timbre of Pax’s.

“Who is that?” I asked quietly.

“The angel of death,” he responded as the man walked toward us.

“Very funny,” the man replied, his eyes traveling the length of Paxton’s body before he rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Paxton, you’re in Barcelona, one of the foremost centers for culture and architecture, and you’d still rather concentrate on stupid antics and getting laid than go to a museum.”

I stepped back, stopping when I came into contact with Paxton’s chest.

“Leah, meet my brother, Brandon. Brandon, this is Leah. Do you want to tell me why the hell you flew halfway around the world?”

“Sure,” Brandon answered, his smirk nearly identical to Paxton’s but for the edge of malice. “I’m here to shut you down.”

Chapter Nine

Paxton

Barcelona

“You have zero authority to shut me down,” I growled at my asshole brother as he put ice cubes into one of the glasses on my bar.

We’d successfully completed three of the stunts, and we hadn’t had a repeat of the zip-line incident. There were zero grounds for him to pull this shit. Hell, I was even beginning to relax.

“So this is what four hundred million dollars will buy you,” he drawled. “You don’t even have a decent bottle of liquor.”

“Settle for a Corona,” I said, pulling one out of the mini-fridge and handing it to him without opening it. He could slice his hand open for all I cared. “Now tell me what the fuck you’re really doing here.”

“Besides attempting to talk you out of your lunacy?” he asked, sitting in the largest armchair like it was his living room…his ship.

“Make your point or get the hell out of my room, Brandon. If you’re interested in seeing the Mediterranean, you can do it from one of Dad’s yachts. There’s one parked in St. Tropez, or I don’t know, maybe visit Mom.”

His eyes hardened. “Unlike you, I work for a living. I’m not off gallivanting, chasing an idiotic dream like I’m five years old on the dirt pile.”

I smirked, letting his comments roll off as always. “Funny, seems like that’s exactly what you’re doing.”

“If you answered emails I wouldn’t have to fly around the world to track you down.”

“Bullshit, you’d fly across the world if you had the craving for gelato.”

He tapped his fingers rhythmically on the glass, the perfect picture of control. “What you’re doing is ludicrous. I’m not going to approve funding this.”