Girl Meets Billionaire

by Aubrey, Brenna

  Now, he snuggled with her, tucking her against his big, strong body. His toned arm was draped under her breasts, giving her a fantastic view of his tattoo, a tribal arm band around his left bicep with strong, curved strokes. She ran her fingers along the design, tracing it. “I like this. When did you have it done?”

  “Thank you. Did it after law school to remind myself why I do what I do.”

  “How does this remind you?”

  “It symbolizes passion. The thing I always want to bring to my job, to my life, to everything.”

  “I’d say you have passion in spades,” she said, pressing her body closer to his so she could feel his smooth, flat belly against her back. The perfect position for apres-sex. “Mmm….this is nice,” he said, brushing a soft, quick kiss on her shoulder. “I’m glad I met you.”

  “Me too,” she murmured.

  “Tell me something about you I don’t know.”

  “Well, that would be almost everything, wouldn’t it?”

  He laughed. “I know plenty about you already. I just want to know more.”

  “Tell me what you know already.”

  “I know you’re tough as nails, that you don’t take shit from anyone, that you can size people up in a second.”

  “That’s my job. Any good bartender worth her salt can do that.”

  “And you’re excellent at it. I also know you take pride in your work. Even though you’re not saving the world you like being good at what you do.”

  She shrugged against him. “I suppose that’s true.”

  “So there. I know stuff about you already.” He snuggled her closer, drawing lazy lines across her belly as they talked. “I also know you’re daring, and not afraid to speak your mind, and that you have a healthy sexual appetite.”

  She smiled, and elbowed him playfully. “I do, but don’t think I get around because I don’t. You’re the first man I’ve been with in a year.”

  “You’ve been with women in between then?” he asked, in a teasing tone.

  “Ha ha. But not what I meant. Though I’m sure you wouldn’t mind.”

  “I absolutely would not mind watching you eat pussy one bit. In fact, I’m going to add that to my bucket list. You, and all that gorgeous red hair spread out across a pair of sexy thighs as you lick and kiss and suck…”

  She shook her head and laughed. “You are trouble. All I was saying is that I don’t do this often. I don’t hookup with men who come to my bar.”

  “I came in your bar too,” he added, making Julia snicker once again. The moonlight shone through the window that overlooked the streets of San Francisco, and the white gauzy curtain blew gently in the night breeze. Outside the door, she was vaguely aware of a cart being rolled, which meant room service somewhere on the floor was being delivered. Maybe to another pair of new lovers who were famished after the best kind of workout. But even if there were other lovers nearby, she knew – beyond a shadow of a doubt – that no one else had this kind of mind-blowing chemistry. She and Clay were electric. “Anyway, I don’t do this either. It’s not a habit. You have to know you’re irresistible, Julia. Irresistible,” he repeated.

  With that one word, her heart beat the tiniest bit faster; maybe it even started to leap. And a part of her wanted to bolt for having the single tiniest little feeling beyond the physical. But another part of her wanted to bask in that feeling a little more.

  “So are you,” she whispered.

  He ran his strong fingers through her hair, touching her softly. “Now, let’s go back to the start of this conversation. I want you to tell me something about you. You’re not getting out of this so easily.”

  She wriggled her rear against him. “I wasn’t trying to. What do you want to know?”

  “What do you like to read?”

  She smiled in the dark. She liked that he’d asked first about books, rather than movies or TV, the world he trafficked in. “Books,” she said dryly.

  “What kind of books, Little Miss Sarcastic?”

  “Adventure stories,” she said, and she could practically feel him raise an eyebrow inquisitively. She shifted to her other side so she could face him as they talked. He shot her a quizzical look, as if the breaking of the physical contact perturbed him. He solved the problem quickly, reaching out to touch her, running his hand down her thigh.

  “Can’t keep your hands off me?”

  “No, I can’t. And I see no reason not to touch you. What kind of adventure stories?”

  “Real adventures. Scary adventures. Like the ship captain who was held hostage by Somali pirates.”

  “A Captain’s Duty,” he said, and she was impressed he knew the title of the book, rather than simply the title for the film based on it. “Good book. Good movie too, Captain Phillips. What else?”

  “Stories about SEALS.”

  “The fictional ones where they’re back from their missions and they fall in love with the hot woman they’re assigned to protect?”

  “No,” she said, laughing.

  “Wait. The ones where they fall for the physical therapist who rehabs them after war?”

  Another laugh. “My my, don’t you know everything about romance tropes? But no, I mean the real ones about their real missions.”

  “That’s it. You’re going to have to stop talking now. Because if you say anything more it’s going to become clear you are the most perfect woman ever made.”

  “And why is that? You a fan of SEAL stories too?”

  “I’m a fan of you growing more fascinating with every detail I learn.”

  “I’m an onion. Keep peeling me.”

  “A sexy onion. Let me take off another layer,” he said and bent his head to her shoulder, nibbling playfully.

  “What about you?”

  “What about me? What do I like to read?”

  “No. I’m picking a different topic. What movies do you like? And don’t name your clients’ films.”

  “Of course, their works are all my favorites. But when I’m not watching their movies, I like heist flicks.”

  “Like Ocean’s Eleven?”

  He nodded. “Best heist movie ever.”

  “And The Italian Job?”

  “Another excellent one.”

  “And Thomas Crowne Affair?”

  “Brilliant plot.”

  “And Die Hard?”

  “Seen it ten times. Maybe more,” Clay said.

  “I love them all too,” she said.

  “Okay, now you have to cease speaking.”

  “Because that makes me perfect?” she joked.

  “Something like that,” he muttered as he pulled her in close, and kissed her once more.

  When she woke up the next morning, Clay ran a hand through his hair, then cleared his throat. “I can push back my flight until later tonight. Do you want to spend the day with me?”

  She couldn’t think of a better idea. “And we can talk more about movies, and TV shows, and books?”

  “That. Or about the threesome we’re going to have some day.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “I am not sharing you.”

  He smiled devilishly at her. “Good answer. And for the record, I would never ever share you.”

  “Good. Now for even suggesting that, I need two orgasms, stat.”

  He tipped his forehead to the bathroom. “Shower. You. Against the wall.”

  After he delivered on her request, they went out to lunch in Hayes Valley at one of her favorite restaurants that had 47 varieties of dipping sauce for French Fries. Clay agreed that it might be the best restaurant he’d ever been to and that fries were an unbeatable food choice.

  But as the evening unspooled, Julia became aware of a ticking clock. Time seemed to speed up, to charge headfirst to the end of the night as the inevitable goodbye loomed closer. When his car arrived to take him to the airport, she said goodbye and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. There would be no poignant, postcard kind of kiss. They might have had fun, they might be insanely compati
ble in bed, they might even have the same taste in movies and books, but there was no they. She had too much baggage here in her hometown. Too much trouble that wasn’t close to being wrapped up. And too many more Tuesday nights before she could call it even.

  She needed to start erecting a wall. Clay would go down in her history as the best sex ever – a night of unbridled perfection in the bedroom. And, fine, he scored major points for being easy to talk to and fun to spend the day with. But he lived 3000 miles away.

  “Nice meeting you,” she said crisply and turned to leave.

  He grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him, her body flush with his. Damn, she loved the feel of his strong chest against hers. She liked it too much.

  “Julia,” he said, and this time his voice was intense, serious. “I had an amazing time with you. I know this sounds crazy since we live on opposite coasts, but I need to see you again. I’m going to call you.”

  He kissed her deeply, a searing kiss that made her stand on her tip toes and thread her hands in his hair so she could hold on tight. When he broke the kiss, she felt wobbly and her lips missed his.

  As he drove off, she realized maybe her heart missed him too. But she reminded herself that it was easy to say I’m going to call you. What was harder was doing that. What was Herculean was seeing someone on the other side of the country.

  Clay pounded hard on the punching bag with a final hit. His breath came fast, his heart beating ferociously from the workout.

  “Never seen you hit so hard, man,” Davis said to him. “Who are you picturing now? That network bastard you had to deal with in San Francisco?”

  Clay shook his head as he bent over the water fountain at the boxing gym for a cold drink of water. He hadn’t been picturing the network exec at all. He’d been thinking of how much it sucked that Julia lived so damn far away. He’d been back in New York for one day. One stinking day, and he couldn’t get that feisty woman out of his mind.

  “No,” he answered crisply.

  “You should just call her,” Davis said.

  He snapped his head up, staring hard at his friend. “What?”

  “The woman you spent the extra day with in San Francisco.”

  “How did you know?”

  “You told me you were coming back in the morning and you missed our workout yesterday.” He tapped the side of his head. “Remember? I know how to read people. It’s my job.”

  “Anyway,” Clay said, trying to brush him off.

  “Are you going to?”

  “Call her?”

  “Yeah. Call her. Because you should.”

  Shrugging, he tried to act cool and casual. But the truth was he’d always been planning to call her. He hadn’t been giving her a line when he left the other night. He wanted to see her again and discover if there was something more to them. He’d enjoyed talking to her as much as he’d enjoyed making her scream his name. She fascinated him, and he couldn’t let her be just one night. He wanted more nights with her.

  When he reached his apartment and shut the door behind him, he dialed her number. She answered on the second ring.

  “Hello, person I never thought I’d hear from again.”

  He smiled, wishing he could tug her sweet little body against his, plant a kiss on her beautiful face, feel her melt into his touch.

  “Hey, Julia. What would you say about coming to New York for the weekend? I have a new set of ropes I’ve been meaning to use, and a restaurant I want to try, and a big king-size bed you’d look spectacular tied up to. Oh, and there’s also a new heist movie coming out this weekend that we could see.”

  She laughed once. “Let me get this straight. I’m being invited to the Big Apple for dinner, a movie and a little bondage?”

  “Yes, that would be correct.”

  She didn’t answer right away. She carefully considered his request.

  She’d won big earlier that night. The kind of win that made the weight of her past start to lessen. Besides, he was only asking for two nights of her life. This wasn’t a commitment. This wasn’t a relationship, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to get caught up in him.

  “Then the answer is pick me up at the airport in a town car, handsome, because I’m going to be ready for all of that and then some as soon as I step off the plane,” she said, as she sank down on her couch, kicked off her heels, and started counting down the hours til the weekend.

  It was one weekend. Nothing more, she promised herself.

  They stayed on the phone for an hour, talking about everything and nothing, and his voice lowered to that sexy growl as he asked her what she was wearing. Then, he brought her there again.

  Just a weekend, she repeated the next day, and the next, and the next, and all during the flight, and even as she walked through the terminal and out the doors of LaGuardia.

  But when she saw him in that hot-as-sin suit, with his tie already loosened, and sunglasses on, leaning against the town car, she had a feeling she’d never want the weekend to end. . .

  Julia and Clay’s story continues in the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling full-length novel NIGHT AFTER NIGHT. Read on!

  Night After Night

  Chapter One

  The ace of diamonds was solo.

  Such a shame, because it would look fantastic paired with, say, an ace of clubs, spades or hearts. But this was the hand she’d been dealt and it was ace high, nothing more. They were down to three still standing for this round: Julia, the Trust Fund Baby, and then the New Guy. His name was Hunter; he was a beanpole and his hair was short, spiky and blond. He wore khaki pants and a plaid shirt, and had twitchy fingers. Probably because there was a no-cell-phone rule during the game, and he was missing out on emails from his team, Julia guessed.

  She bet he was an Internet startup type, maybe a venture capitalist. He was used to risks; he liked to take them. That’s why he’d been brought to this game, recruited specifically to play with her. But the trouble was—well, trouble for him—he laughed when he bluffed. Julia spotted it early, and then tracked it. He’d done it with a pair of fives a couple of rounds back that she’d easily beat with two jacks. He’d chuckled softly too with his king high a few hands ago.

  Bless that newbie. He couldn’t even hide his tell, and Julia could kiss him if he kept this up because it made her job so much easier.

  “Five hundred,” he said confidently, pushing another black chip into the pile as he cleared his throat. Julia was a panther poised for prey; muscles taut and frozen, lying in wait for the sign.

  Then it came. It started in his nose, like a small, playful snort, then traveled to his belly, and finally turned into a quick, rumbly laugh.

  Ah, brilliant. She could smell potential victory in the air. Of course, she could also smell the pork dumplings and pepper steak from Mr. Pong’s downstairs. When she’d first started coming here, to this second-floor apartment parked atop a restaurant in China Town that smelled of takeout even when pizza had been ordered for the games, she was sure she’d never remove the stench from her clothes, much less her nostrils. Perma-scent. But she’d had no problems in the laundry department and as for her nose, well, now she was used to the smell that permeated every pore on Tuesday nights.

  She never ate here, especially not with the bulldozer-sized heavy who stood guard over the game in the kitchen. She knew his name, but who cared what it was? To her he was simply Skunk; he had one streak of white in his dyed-black hair. His meaty fingers were jammed into the coldcut plate, pawing through the leftover slices of deli meat. Julia wanted to roll her eyes, crinkle her nose, or shoot him a hard stare.

  She knew better, though, for many reasons, not the least of which was the square outline of the handle of the Glock poking at the hem of his pants. He’d never pulled it, but the gun was an omnipresent reminder that a bullet could be unleashed at a moment’s notice. She shivered inside at the thought, but outside she showed no emotion, not toward Skunk, not toward Hunter the pawn, and certainly none for Trust Fund Ba
by when he shrugged, blew a long stream of air through his lips, and slammed his cards down. He held his hands out wide. “I’m out.”

  Then there were two.

  She eyed the pot, her hand, and the newbie.

  Her heart thumped, and a fleet of nerves ghosted through her, but only briefly.

  Don’t let on.

  She had no tells. Her face was stone. She’d mastered the impassive look a long time ago. She could fake her way through anything. A perfect liar, the ninth-grade school guidance counselor had declared when Julia denied punching Amelia Cartwright in the nose after Amelia had called another girl a nasty name.

  “Did you just hit Amelia Cartwright?”

  “No,” Julia had said. She didn’t shuffle her feet. She didn’t look away. She’d lied like it was the truth and that had served her well ever since then.

  Perfect lie = perfect truth.

  She plucked out a black chip from her stack, then another, rolling them back and forth between the pads of her thumb and index finger, her fire-engine red nails long and lacquered. The nails were part of the look—low-cut tops, tight jeans and four-inch black pumps for every game. The regulars knew her, but the new players never took a woman seriously, especially when she dressed like it was girls’ night out.

  That’s why newbies were brought in. So she could hustle them. It was better that they underestimated her.

  “I’ll raise you $500,” she said in an emotionless voice, sliding two chips into the pile.

  This was the moment. Nerves like steel. Blood like ice.

  Hunter sucked in a deep breath, like he was trying to inhale thick malt from a thin straw. He stared longingly at the pile of chips in the middle of the table, chewed on the corner of his lip, and glanced at his cards one last time.