Barbara Dunlop - Beauty And The Billionaire

Hunter sat back in apparent surprise. “What did you steal?”

“Is it a lie or not?”

He peered at her expression. “You’re telling me you’re a liar and a thief?”

She shook her head. “I’m either a liar or a thief. If I’m lying about being a thief, then I’m only a liar. But if I’m telling the truth about being a thief, I’m only a thief.”

His eyes squinted down.

“Come on,” she coaxed. “Which is it?”

“You’re a liar,” he said. “You didn’t steal anything from my bedroom.”

“You sure?”

“I’m positive.”

“You got me,” she admitted.

“Okay. Now it’s my turn.” He folded the napkin and set it aside. “I once wrestled an alligator.”

“A real alligator?”

He nodded.

She was intrigued. Who wouldn’t be? But she wasn’t sold, yet. “Where?”

“A little town in Louisiana.”

“Was it a trained alligator? Like in a zoo or something?”

“Nope. Out there in the bayou.”

“It must have been pretty small.”

“I didn’t measure it or anything, but Jack guessed it was about six feet long.”

“Jack was there, too?”

Hunter nodded.

Sinclair held out her hand. “Your phone.”

“What?”

“I’m calling Jack.”

“Oh, no, you’re not.”

“Oh, yes, I am.” She wiggled her fingers.

Hunter shrugged and handed her the phone.

“You’re so lying,” she said. “Which speed dial?”

He grinned. “Four. And I’m not lying.”

Sinclair hit number four, and waited while it rang. “You are busted,” she said to Hunter.

“Jack Osland,” came a sleepy voice. Too late, she remembered the time-zone difference.

“Hi, Jack,” she offered guiltily. “It’s Sinclair.”

There was a pause. Jack’s voice turned grave. “What did he do?”

She watched Hunter while she spoke. “He claims he wrestled a six-foot alligator in a Louisiana swamp.”

“He told you that?”

“He did.”

“Well, it’s true.”

Sinclair blinked. “Really?”

“Saved my life.”

“Really?”

“Anything else?” asked Jack.

“Uh, no. Sorry. Bye.” She shut off the phone. “You saved his life.”

Hunter shrugged. “He exaggerates.”

Sinclair whooshed back in the chair. “I’d have bet money you were lying.”

Hunter took a sip of his coffee. “I was.”

She stilled. “What?”

He nodded “I was lying. I didn’t wrestle a six-foot alligator. Are you kidding? I’d have been killed.”

She looked down at the phone. “But…Jack…”

“Was lying, too.”

“You couldn’t possibly have set that up.”

“We didn’t have to.” He lifted the phone from her hand. “You started the conversation by saying ‘Hunter told me he wrestled an alligator.’ Jack’s my cousin; of course he’s going to back me up.”

“Tag-team lying?”

“It’s the very best kind. Your turn.”

“I’m not going to be able to top that.”

“Give it a try.”

Sinclair racked her brain. What could she possibly say that might throw him? Something believable, yet surprising.

Aha!

“I’m pregnant.”

Hunter’s face went white. “What?” he rasped.

Oh, no. No. She’d gone too far. “I’m lying, Hunter.”

He worked his jaw, but no words came out.

“Hunter, seriously. I’m lying.”

“You’re not pregnant?”

“I am not pregnant.”

“If you were, would you tell me?”

“I’m not.”

“Because we’d get married.”

“Hunter. It’s a game.”

“Will you take a pregnancy test?”

“No.”

“I let you phone Jack.”

She stood up and rounded the table to him, bending over and putting all the sincerity she could muster into her eyes. “I’m sorry I said I was pregnant. I’m not.”

He searched her expression. “You scared me half to death.”

She smiled at that, reaching out to pat his cheek. “Not ready to be a daddy?”

He snagged her wrist and pulled her down into his lap. “Not ready for you to keep that big of a secret.”

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t. I’d tell you.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

He kissed the inside of her wrist. And then his gaze dipped down to her stomach.

She followed it and realized her movements had opened the robe. Her cleavage was showing, and the length of one thigh was visible nearly to her hip.

But Hunter wasn’t looking at her thigh. His gaze was fixed on her stomach. His big, warm hand moved to press against the robe. It stayed there, and electricity vibrated between them. Then he slipped his hand beneath the robe to cup her soft stomach.

Arousal bloomed within her, radiating out to tingle her limbs. Her lips softened. Her eyelids went heavy. And she molded against his body.

He drew her head down, kissing her softly on the lips, trailing across her cheek, to the crook of her neck, to the tops of her breasts, burrowing down and inhaling deeply.

“I can’t fight it anymore,” he rasped, tipping to look up at her. “I can’t.”

“Then don’t.” She shook her head as she stared into the molten steel of his eyes. “Because it’s killing us.”

He bracketed her hips with his hands, lifting and turning her, so her legs went around his waist.

She ruffled her hands through his hair, kissing his hairline, his forehead, the tip of his nose.

He tugged the sash, and her robe fell away.

Then he smoothed his hands along her waist, wrapping around, splaying on her bare back, pulling her close over the rough fabric of his slacks. She bent her head and kissed his lips, slanting her mouth over his.

He met her tongue with his own, and she savored his taste, content to let it last forever. But his hands slipped down, ratcheting up her arousal.

She whimpered.

“I know,” he breathed, kissing her harder and deeper, letting his hands roam free, along her thighs, over her breasts, between her legs.

Her breathing turned labored, and she fought a war within herself. Part of her wanted him, right here, right now. Another part wanted to wait, to make it last. He felt good. He felt right.

She arched her back, pressing herself against his slacks.

He braced his forearms beneath her bottom, and came to his feet. She clung to his neck, anchoring her legs around his waist.

A few short steps, and they were there. The high four-poster. He set her down, then laid her back, pushing away the robe until she was completely naked.

She watched his hot gaze linger on her, not even considering adjusting her spread-legged pose. He traced a line between her breasts, down her belly, over her curls, into her center.

She closed her eyes, held on to the image of the unbridled arousal on his face.

She heard him stand.

Heard the rustle of his clothes.

The slide of his zipper.

The creak of his shoes.

“Sinclair?” he whispered, and she opened her eyes to see him standing naked above her.

She stretched out her hands, and he came down beside her, covering her with the weight of one thigh, smoothing her hair back from her face, kissing her gently on her cheek and on the tip of her shoulder.

“You are astonishingly, outrageously beautiful.” His tone was reverent.

His words made her shiver.

He was beautiful, too. But more than that, he was Hunter. He was tender and funny, smart and determined-everything she could possibly dream of in a man.

“I want you so bad,” he confessed.

Her throat closed up. She was beyond words, but she managed a nod of agreement.

“Do you remember?” he asked.

She nodded again, finding her voice. “Everything,” she rasped. “Everything.”

He inched a hand up her ribcage, finding the soft underside of her breast. He smoothed his thumb over the peak, drawing a lazy circle, pulling her nipple to a pebble. “I remember it, too.”

Then he proved his knowledge, finding secrets and hollows, making her purr and moan.

She reached for him in return, running her fingertips over his chest and abdomen. He sucked in a breath as she brushed his erection. He let her test the length and texture, before trapping her wrist and calling a halt.

He pushed her arms over her head, where they had to behave. Then he kissed her mouth, and her neck, and her breasts. He released her hands, as his lips roamed free, testing and suckling. She tangled his hair, moaning his name, everything inside her tightening and heightening.

But he kissed his way back. And merged with her mouth. He moved atop her, linking his fingertips with hers, pressing them down against the softness of the comforter. Her knees moved apart, and their bodies met, slick and hot and impossibly sweet.

He eased inside her, slower than she could bear. She thrashed her head and squeezed his hands, her kisses growing deeper and more frantic. Then she instintively flexed her hips, and he pushed the final inch to paradise.

He set a rhythm, speeding up and slowing down. She felt the fire of passion build within her. Her eyes squeezed shut, and her focus contracted to the spot where their bodies met.

The world turned to heat, and sensation and scent. She felt his muscles clench, and his desire take over. He sped up and stayed there, his thrusts intent and solid. A moan started low in her throat. It grew louder and more frantic, until she cried out his name, and the world fell apart, and his body pulsed within her.

They breathed in sync for long minutes after.

“You okay?” His voice seemed to come from a long way off. His body was a delicious weight on top of her, and she couldn’t move a muscle, including her eyelids.

“Sinclair?” he pressed, sounding worried.

“I think we’ve cured the tension,” she mumbled.

There was a chuckle low in his throat, and he eased his weight to the side, gathering her in his arms. “I do believe you’re right.”

Sinclair caught sight of her new haircut in the mirror at Club Seventy-Five. She’d second-guessed herself about getting it so short, but she had to admit, she loved it. Textured to spiky wisps around her ears and neck, it was light on top, and her new bangs swooped across her forehead, while the foil, blond highlights brought out the color in her cheeks.

Of course, the color could have come from the tote bag full of Luscious Lavender cosmetics that she’d had applied this afternoon. The beautician had painstakingly shown Sinclair how to apply the makeup herself, but she wasn’t so sure she’d be successful-at least not without a lot of practice.

But, for tonight, she felt gorgeous.

She was wearing one of the jazzier dresses they’d bought at La Petite Fleur. A Diana Kamshak, it was a mint-green satin party dress. The short, full skirt sported blue horizontal stripes, and it was accented by a blue and silver border at the mid-thigh hem.

Above the wide silver belt, the top was tight and strapless, with a princess neckline that drew attention to her breasts. She wouldn’t normally be comfortable in something so revealing. But every time she looked into Hunter’s eyes, she felt beautiful.

She’d had dozens of covetous looks at her sapphire-and-diamond choker. Or perhaps it was because she was also wearing the Diana Kamshak dress. Or perhaps it was because she was with Hunter.

She’d decided on the teardrop diamond earrings, and she liked the way their weight bounced on her ears. She still hadn’t taken off the goldfish bracelet, and it made a kicky addition to the outfit. She liked it. She liked it all.

The lights and the music pounded lifeblood through her bones. Or maybe it was Hunter that pounded through her bones. They were out on the floor, amidst the crowd, alternating between touching, smiling, and just moving independently to the beat.

He slipped an arm around her waist, tugging her close, spinning her to the rhythm of the house band. Sinclair smiled, then laughed out loud, she couldn’t help it. The musicians launched into another lively and compelling tune.

“You thirsty?” he called in her ear as the song finished with a metallic flourish.

She nodded.

He put at hand at the small of her back, guiding her off the dance floor. “Water? Wine? Champagne?”

Sinclair did a little shimmy next to their table. “Champagne.”

He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “My kind of girl.”

Then he helped her into the high bar chair and disappeared into the crowd.

Sinclair liked being Hunter’s kind of girl.

She liked the fashions. She liked the limos. She loved the sex. And she loved the way they arrived at a club and got escorted immediately through the side entrance. No waiting around on the curb for Hunter Osland.

But putting all that aside, what she liked most of all was Hunter-the person. Period.

Okay, the one thing she didn’t like was the high shoes. She supposed she’d get used to them at some point, but right now, they just made one of her baby toes burn and both calves ache.