How to Avoid a Billionaire
Page 9
A long while later, after he had come in her twice, they lay in the bed below deck. She didn’t remember when they made their way down there, but she knew they’d carried on with the marathon sex because every muscle in her body ached. She rolled over in the bed and opened her eyes. No light showed through the glass doors leading outside, and she nudged Ryder. “Baby, we’d better get going before someone thinks something happened to us.”
He threw an arm across her waist and dragged her back to his chest. “Later. Right now you’re staying here where you belong.”
“I have work tomorrow, Ryder, and so do you.”
He groaned but didn’t open his eyes.
“Ryder? I can’t move in with you until you put a ring on my finger.” Butterflies stirred in her belly over his response, but she couldn’t deny her own upbringing and what she was comfortable with.
His eyes popped open. “Is that what our next negotiation will consist of?”
She chuckled. “No, my body can’t take any more tonight. Anyway, it’s not an ultimatum or a negotiation. I just can’t. I’m sorry.”
A slow smile spread over his lips, and he sat up to draw on a T-shirt and shorts. She was kind of sorry to see the naked sexiness disappear from sight.
“Angel, it looks like I’m going to have a talk with your dad.”
About the Author
Tressie Lockwood is the best selling author of interracial contemporary and shifter erotic romance. She has always loved books, and she enjoys writing about heroines who are overcoming the trials of life. She writes straight from her heart, reaching out to those who find it hard to be completely themselves no matter what anyone else thinks. She hopes her readers enjoy her books. Visit Tressie on the web at www.tressielockwood.com or her blog at http://tressielockwood.blogspot.com.
One night in Vegas could be their ticket to love.
Las Vegas Layover
© ٢٠١٤ Eva Siedler
Coastal Airlines mechanic Sebastian Brisbane is on his way to Las Vegas to fix a broken jet. But after one look at his sexy, travel-sized seatmate, he’s more concerned with revving her engine than fixing the plane’s.
Clara Howe will do anything to fulfill her aunt’s last wishes to have her ashes spread in Vegas. A one-night stand isn’t on the itinerary, but when Clara accidentally pricks Sebastian’s temper, along with his passion, only one thing is certain: it’s bound to be a bumpy ride.
Warning: If you need to get away from it all, this quick read will send you to Sin City for sexy fun with serious heart (and swearing).
Enjoy the following excerpt for Las Vegas Layover:
“I hate flying. It scares me. Besides, St. Louis was a connection for me. I’m still sick.”
If he hadn’t been staring at her eyes, he might have missed the flash of anger she quickly covered. Admitting her fear didn’t sit well. Leaning closer, he studied her expressions. So far he’d noticed that her nose crinkled when she was aggravated, and the tips of her ears reddened when she was embarrassed. It was fucking fascinating. He couldn’t wait to see what she did next.
“If you hate flying, then why are you doing it?”
“I’m being blackmailed by a dead woman.”
Expression Number Three: She arched one delicate brow when she was being sarcastic.
Now that the green tinge to her face had faded, revealing flawless cream, Sebastian couldn’t deny it any longer. Mystery woman was a knockout.
Her brown hair was cut in one of those styles that stopped just below her jaw to flow gently around her oval face. Her height—she couldn’t have been five feet tall in hooker heels—and the light, natural look of her makeup gave her the appearance of a pixie who’d wandered out of the woods. The most adorable, cherubic lips he’d ever seen called to him in a way he hadn’t thought possible anymore, and that lone dimple was beyond adorable. Still, it was those eyes, glass-green and shining with some sparkle he couldn’t put his finger on, that made him lean even closer.
Feisty and smokin’. It was a damn shame he was on the clock. She might have been just the distraction he needed.
He grinned. “I’m Sebastian.”
“Sebastian? Seriously?” Something in her tone or maybe the way she scrunched her forehead made her question feel insulting.
“Yeah, seriously.” He tapped the embroidered nametag stitched to his navy blue uniform. “Why? What’s wrong with my name?”
“There’s nothing wrong with it, per se. You just don’t look like a Sebastian to me.” Her gaze narrowed, then did a slow circuit over his body that heated his blood. “It sounds stuffy,” she finally said with a dainty shrug. “You don’t look like the stuffy type.”
“There’s nothing stuffy about me, babe. But you can call me Happy if you want. Most people do.” He gave her the practiced, lazy grin that had charmed the panties off countless women.
She burst out laughing, a tiny snort escaping that only made her giggle harder. He should have been offended, but she had a sexy little laugh. Hell, even that snort was cute.
Obviously he really needed to get laid.
A few of the other passengers glanced over at all the noise. She didn’t notice anyone but him.
Hell. Yeah.
“Sorry, but I’m not calling you Happy.” She wiped a tear away with the back of her hand. The fake leather seat squeaked as she shifted to face him.
She smelled good enough to eat, one of those perfumes with the faint foody scent that makes a guy think of kinky sex. He took a deep breath through his nose, trying to decide what it was. Chocolate covered strawberries?
“What on earth did you do to deserve that kind of torture?” she asked.
What were they talking about? Right, his nickname. “They think they’re funny. Apparently I never smile.”
“You’re smiling now.” Her eyes caressed every feature of his face, lingering on his mouth.
Funny he hadn’t noticed, but she was right. His smile broadened.
The spark in her eyes exploded and she laughed again. “Wait. Wasn’t Sebastian the name of that grouchy crab in The Little Mermaid?” His eyes narrowed. She laughed harder. “Maybe it does fit you.”
“Ouch,” he said, scooting closer still. God, she was a gutsy little thing. “Now that you’ve laughed at my name, I think it’s only fair for you to tell me yours.”
“Clara. I’m—” She stopped, a movement over his shoulder catching her attention.
“Hey, Happy,” a sweet Southern voice drawled from the aisle. “Can I get you anything, sugar?” The din of passengers he’d basically forgotten since sitting down filled the plane. But this voice, feminine and decidedly sensual, refused to fade into the perpetual whirr of engines.
He turned to find a slender blonde wearing the standard issue flight attendant getup: white button-up, dark blue sweater vest, and a gleaming gold badge that read “Sheri.”
“Nah, I’m good.” He winked at her.
“Well, you just let me know if you change your mind.” Sheri brushed the V of her blouse with two fingers, remaining a second too long before twirling on her heel to stroll back to the galley.
“Oooookay,” the melodic voice to his right began. “I’m not normally a nosey person, but when exactly did you sleep with her?”
Sebastian yanked his attention back to Clara. “What?”
“Oh, please,” she said with an eye roll that fluttered her thick lashes. “If she had it her way you two would be locked in the bathroom right now. A woman doesn’t look at a man like that unless she’s seen him naked. And liked it.” She raised one thin brow and waited for an answer.
Blood crept along his neck to color his face. Shit. He probably hadn’t blushed since high school. “Tell you what.” He returned her eyebrow quirk. “I’ll answer your question, if you answer mine.”
She mulled that over for a moment.
“Depends. What’s your question?”
“Why are you afraid to fly?”
She laughed, her small shoulders shaking against the window. “You’re on, but you first.”
“I don’t remember.” Sebastian tried to sound duly ashamed of himself and only just missed his mark. Truth be told, he wouldn’t have remembered Sheri’s name without the badge.
“I asked when you slept with her,” Clara repeated.
“I know.” Shaking his head, he lowered his voice and leaned in to whisper in her ear. Damn, that perfume was killing him. “I meant, I don’t really remember when it happened.”
Scandalized, Clara shot a glance to the front of the plane. “That’s horrible!”
“Probably,” he admitted. “But it was one night a couple years ago. Does that make me sound like less of an asshole?”
“A little,” she said, the strained shock easing from her face. “Very little.”
As he followed her gaze, he felt like an asshole. Sheri stood with her back to them, a drink cart parked in the aisle ahead of her. Now that he thought it over, he did remember a few things about her. She was from Dallas and had a weakness for peppermint patties. Why could he remember that but not her name or even what city they’d been in when they slept together?
Anxious to shift Clara’s focus, as well as his own, he said, “Your turn. Why are you afraid to fly?”
“That’s easy.” Her voice notched tighter. “I don’t trust these dumb things to stay in the air.”
“That’s stup—” He tried to catch himself but it was too late.
Her glare should have left a pile of ash in his seat.
He recognized that look; he’d seen it enough in his life. The moment he learned to speak, he’d developed a wicked case of foot-in-mouth disease—a chronic condition that regularly caused him to say shit he didn’t mean, shit that almost always pissed people off. He’d learned to manage it shortly after discovering that girls did not in fact have cooties. Clearly he reverted to his fifteen-year-old self around Clara.
“Stupid?” she supplied, flexing her foot like she wanted to kick him.
“N—no, that’s not what I meant.” Damn it, what was it about her? He hadn’t been this flustered by a woman in over a decade. “It’s just…the feds regulate maintenance on these things pretty closely. There hasn’t been a major crash due to faulty equipment in years.”
“Oh, please,” her glare lessened, but her tone still carried plenty of bite. “Have you seen the trained monkeys they let work on these things?”
Sebastian stared back, his spine stiffening. He bit his tongue to keep silent, but the flush creeping up his neck and the tremor in his hands were beyond his control.
“Seriously,” she continued. “Before we left the gate, some ape was climbing around on the wing and, I swear to God, he duct-taped the damned thing.” Her thumb jerked over her shoulder to point out the flash of silver gleaming in the sun. “I mean, what kind of—”
“Technically,” Sebastian ground out between locked teeth, “it’s speed tape.”
“What?” She frowned.
“I said, it’s speed tape, not duct tape. And I put it over some chipped paint to protect the flap.” On the verge of losing his temper, Sebastian fisted his hands in his lap and tried to push Pam’s snide echo out of his mind. You’ll never be anything more than a grease monkey.
For the first time since he’d sat down, the woman next to him didn’t look the least bit green. She wasn’t even red. Clara had lost all color, her face a stark white mask of horror.
“You don’t mean you’re—”
Sebastian cut her off, gently pounding his fist against his chest. “Ooo, ooo, ooo.”
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Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B
Cincinnati OH 45249
How to Avoid a Billionaire
Copyright © 2015 by Tressie Lockwood
ISBN: 978-1-61922-459-9
Edited by Jessica Corra
Cover by Angela Waters
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: February 2015
www.samhainpublishing.com